


The Art of Human Interaction

by ConstantCommentTea



Series: The Interaction Series [1]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel & Human Interactions, Angel Does Not Like Kids, Angel Is a Terrible Role Model, Angel vs. Mothers, Future Fic, Gen, Growing Up, Mentorship, Mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-20
Updated: 2008-09-20
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCommentTea/pseuds/ConstantCommentTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel didn't fade away. Centuries have passed since the battle. Everyone he cared about is long gone, and our Champion swore off close association with humans lifetimes ago. But apparently someone missed the memo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a short prequel to another story called _The Heart of Human Interaction_ , which involves some original characters. I wanted to get to know those characters better before writing them, because I had a nasty feeling they would get shoved to the side and be boring if I didn’t.
> 
> Well. It's not short, but I _do_ know the characters very well now, so there's that. I even have Judith pegged down to her exact Chinese Five Element constitution and presentation because I'm an acupuncturist as well as a nerd and I'm so glad no one was there the day I realized that she's actually a Fire-Earth type masquerading as Metal-Earth because I might have yelled out loud in that sudden flash of profound understanding of...my own...fictional...character. 
> 
> Anyway. I hope you enjoy this story, and if you do, please drop me a line and let me know. There are also lots more stories to come after this, so put me on author alert, too.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

William Cole had run away from home, and though he'd only made it across the street and down one alley, already felt better for it.

Sniffing and wiping his nose on his jacket sleeve, which was wet from the steady rain that soaked through the crevices the dark city, he nodded with determination. He would take the next red-line tram to his best friend Calder's house across town, where he would spend the night. Calder had just turned nine, and as the older one, would have ideas about where William could find a place to live in the morning. Heck, maybe he could even convince Calder to come with him. It wasn't like Calder's parents ever pretended to love him when they actually didn't-not like William's parents had.

William choked back a sob and hopped over a small stream of water as he emerged from the alley onto the sidewalk. Rivulets of rain glided over the glass and chrome of the towering buildings around him and tiny waterfalls from overhead walkways dripped onto his head when he passed under them.

The arguments had been getting more frequent at his ex-home-and worse. His mother had once explained to him that sometimes adults said things they didn't mean when they were angry or tired, but it seemed to William that when you're angry or tired, it's much harder to come up with lies. Scared and upset to the end of his ability to cope anyway, that was why, when he heard muffled through the bedroom walls his father's deep voice say something about "if we'd never had a kid," William snapped, and, devastated and hardly able to see through his tears the wireless charging dock for his Palm as he packed it, William was gone not ten minutes later. His parents were still arguing and wouldn't notice he was gone for hours-if at all.

Water began to seep out from under his dark hair down his forehead and into his brown eyes, which were usually alight with play and laughter, but tonight were red and stinging, and not just from his usual late spring allergies. He ducked into another alley that he knew would be a shortcut to the tram stop. William never liked this ally, but he didn't like being cold and wet, either. He quickened his pace a little.

It happened so fast he barely had time to think. Something cold, hard, and slippery with rain flew out from the shadows and yanked him off the ground. William cried out, but something covered his face. He couldn't breathe. The bitter taste of panic filled his mouth, worse than the burnt broccoli he'd tried to eat for dinner, which, if the monster didn't soon let him go, just might make another appearance.

He tried to struggle, but the burning in his lungs and dancing stars across his eyes panicked him even more and his muscles felt entirely separate from his body, completely out of control. He had almost passed out when the thing finally threw him aside. The ground tore at William as he rolled away and finally crashed against a wall that felt much more solid than William ever realized walls could be.

Loud  _thuds_  and snarls and growls shot at him through the darkness as he cowered against the wall. It was just sound, but he felt like each noise was another nasty monster, closing in on him, attacking him, blasting him with their volume. Something let out a roar fit for a lion; the sound snatched William's heart and threatened to pull it straight up out of his throat. He tried to swallow to keep it down, but his mouth was too dry.

Finally, a loud  _crack!_  echoed through the ally, and then silence fell. Something moved toward him. The boy tried to push away, but his muscles refused to work—except for his heart, which felt like it might explode in his chest from the pounding (just like when he had run as fast as he could from Eli, the school bully, who had chased him around the whole playground three times before a teacher stopped him—only this was worse). The beast was close enough now that he could see the sharp teeth and yellow eyes glinting maliciously down at him. As it bent and scooped him up, the boy's last thought before he passed out from terror was that he at least hoped he tasted good.

* * *

William woke up disoriented, warm, and comfortable, save for various throbbing appendages. He was laying on something soft and cushy, and he felt the warm weight of a blanket draped over him. He opened his eyes and dazedly looked around.

The first thing he noticed was the wood. The only place he had seen more wood was in Merlin Park, by the big hospital where his mum worked. Bookshelves, cabinets, doors, trimmings, furniture—even the floor!—were all varying, yet complimentary, shades of polished, stained,  _real_  wood. He could smell it. The life of the wood seeped into the open spaces of the room; William thought that he might ask the room questions and it would answer, though he knew that rooms were not actually alive. The rich shades reflected the soft light from the lamp behind him, casting the whole space in a warm glow that wrapped around him as comfortably as the blankets.

William was lying lengthwise on a leather couch ( _real_  leather-he could smell that, too), so that to his left was a window, against which rain still pattered, and to his right was the rest of what appeared to be someone's flat.

He followed the line of the walls around the room, which was painted a soft off-white where there weren't bookshelves or ( _real!_ ) weapons or art covering it. Starting directly in front of him, William scanned the room clockwise. There was a closed wooden door several feet from the end of the William's couch. There was no sign on it indicating someone's bedroom, like William had on his door.

His  _old_  door, he corrected himself, heart falling heavily as he remembered. Where he  _used_  to live.

Several feet farther on, a small room jutted out into the main room, with another closed wooden door leading into it. Still no bedroom-marking sign. Continuing his scan to the right, he saw what looked like a front door because of the hooks next to it and a black leather jacket hanging on one of them. Unable to turn his head any more, William turned his attention to the two leather armchairs flanking him and an odd solid wood table with drawers, a little taller than a normal coffee table, directly in front of him.

William tried to sit up to get a better view of the room behind him, but found his body ached too much. He groaned, sinking back down. A man appeared just, then, from that mysterious Behind area. He was carrying a tray. The tray was wood, too, and on the tray was something William had only seen in museums: a porcelain tea set.

The man was tall and pale and had dark hair, very similar to William's. His clothes were in deep colors; though which colors William had trouble identifying in the dim light. The man set the tray down on the wood drawer table, poured some tea, stirred in a bit of sugar, and offered it to William.

"Drink this," he said. "How do you feel?"

William just looked from the man to the cup and back. His mother had taught him to be careful about strangers.

"What's your name?" the man tried again, his accent more gentle in its Irish lilt most other residents of Galway. Well, except for Sanja Renato's dad, but he was from Spain.

William hesitated before saying, "William."

A flicker of something he could not identify passed over the man's face, making his dark eyes glint with something that make William relax, but it was quickly gone.

"William," the man said, "the tea will help you feel better. It's made with a special plant that will give your body strength to heal quickly."

William hesitated again. "What's  _your_  name?" he asked.

"Angel," the man replied.

Angel. William's family ( _ex_ -family) didn't really believe in angels, but the word still felt nonthreatening.

William took a last glance at the cup before, grunting with soreness, he dragged his body up, noticing as he did that his elbows were bandaged, his sprained wrist and ankle were wrapped, and his hurt knee was elevated. William took the cup in his hands and tried a sip. It was warm and sweet, but with an undertone of bitterness, like something that was charred. He supposed that was the strength-plant Angel talked about.

Now that he was sitting up, he could properly look around the room. The mysterious Behind are turned out to be pretty boring: more bookshelves and weapons and art and an open doorway that probably led to a kitchen.

"Why do you have so many paper books?" William asked, the bookshelf behind him being the last thing he saw before turning around to drink more strength plant tea.

Angel looked at the shelves against the walls. Though he didn't speak right away, he finally replied, "These are just the ones I use often. That room," he pointed to the room that jutted out, "has a lot more."

"You  _use_  them? My great-aunt Jenny has a whole shelf full of paper books for decoration because she likes really old things, but she never reads them. She reads the regular books instead because they're lighter and all of them are in one book and she can make the letters bigger or have it read to her."

Angel made a guttural noise of acknowledgement, but did not reply. William sipped some more tea, now far more interested in the weapons on the walls.

"What's that?" William pointed to one of them displayed above the mystery door in front of him.

Angel glanced up at it. "It's an ancient battle axe. A long time ago people used to use it in wars."

"Did you use it to kill the thing that attacked me?"

Angel's face darkened. "It's just a decoration, William."

"What  _was_  that thing that attacked me?"

Angel was silent.

"I think it was a monster." William continued, not noticing the frown on Angel's face. "I mean, what else could it be? It wasn't a dog because it had hands and its hands were huge like, like the size of that tray and they smelled like fish, so it wasn't a person, and nothing else can growl or roar like that, so it  _had_ to be a monster!"

Still, Angel was silent.

"How did you rescue me from the other one?"

Angel blinked. "The other one?"

William elaborated, "The one with the yellow eyes that won the fight. How did I get here when it was going to take me back to its cave and eat me?"

For some reason, Angel seemed slightly amused. Instead of answering, however, he said, "Finish your tea, William, and then I'll take you home. Where do you live?"

William looked sadly, and somewhat melodramatically, into his tea, heart sinking again. "Nowhere. No one wants me."

"I bet that's not true," Angel said.

"Yup," William sighed matter-of-factly, "it is."

Angel looked at William a minute. "How old are you?" he asked.

"Eight-and-three-quarters," William replied.

"Mm. Well, it's been a long time since I was eight and three quarters, but don't people usually have parents at that age?" Angel paused. "I bet they're worried about you."

William shifted and said quietly, "Well, my parents were fighting and my dad said everything would have been different if I'd never been born. So I did them a favor and left."

"Oh, right," Angel nodded like he understood completely. "So where are you going to go?"

"My best friend Calder's," William answered.

"Uh-huh. Don't you think your parents will find you there?"

William shook his head. "It's just temporary. I'll move on from there."

"Of course," Angel said, and then asked conversationally, "Where?"

William's shoulders sank. "I don't know yet," he mumbled into his teacup.

"Well, you've got time to figure it out," Angel shrugged, like it didn't really matter. "How are you going to get food?"

"I have my mum's card on my Palm, in case of emergencies."

"She can track that," Angel pointed out.

William's face fell as he realized Angel was right.

"And you know, rent deposits aren't cheap, either," Angel went on. "And you have to have references and a job… 'Course, you could find a shipping box or something and set up in an alley somewhere...but now you know the kinds of other things that live in allies. You should probably learn to defend yourself first."

Darn, darn, darn. William screwed up his face in frustration. "So what do I  _do?_ "

"Aside from go home?"

"I don't  _have_  a home! I ran away!"

Something twitched at the corner of Angel's mouth, and he said, "You know, I've run away before, too. I've found that family waits for you to come back."

William looked up at Angel in fascination. "You've run away, too?"

Angel was quiet for a minute, but then he said, "Most of us have, at some point or another. Why don't you tell me where your parents live, and I'll take you there?"

William looked down into his tea, which was almost gone. He didn't really want to go home to where all the yelling was, but it would be nice to have his room back, and to have his meals cooked for him. And he liked the way his mum hugged him, wrapping around him like the world's safest blanket, and how his dad liked to take him fun places like the aquarium and show him how to make the World's Best Pancakes.

William took a deep breath. "Sparrow Flats. On the corner of Monivea and Castlepark."

Angel nodded. "I'll get an umbrella."

William looked outside. The sky was a dark royal blue. Though it was still raining, day was coming. Angel returned a moment later, turning off the lights on the way back to the couch. The light from the approaching dawn and streetlamps outside were just enough to see by. Angel peeled the blankets back, gently picked him up, and carried him out of the flat.

* * *

The walk to Monivea and Castlepark was a dangerous one. Not for the boy, of course, but for the vampire, who was feeling uncomfortably prickly, even though the clouds would cover the deadly ray of the approaching morning sun when it surfaced. The rain dripped steadily, and there was no sign of a break in the weather, though Angel had not lived for over four and a half centuries without learning that weather can change in an instant—particularly on the coast of Ireland, where he now lived. The thump of the umbrella against his leg in his jacket pocket gave him some comfort.

Time had changed Angel's birthtown as much as it had changed Angel himself. Some of Galway still existed as Angel had known it, like the core of his own self, unchanging in its foundations. The port town of Galway where Angel's family had done business was now "Old Galway," and the most popular of local tourist sites. To the east, industry, technology, and medicine had spread, and sometime in the last century, an economic boom had grown high rise office buildings and residences; and now Angel lived in one of them.

He had once tried to find where he'd been born to the west of town, but that area was now a tightly-packed residential sprawl and he'd quickly given up.

The city was busy, now, with commuters streaming out of electric public trams at stops on almost every corner. Relatively few people drove cars anymore, but those who did still beeped at other distracted drivers as usual. Angel wove through the crowds, slipping through gaps that most people would never have noticed.

The boy in Angel's arms watched their progress quietly, seemingly too fascinated by their quick and fluid pace to notice this his mouth was hanging open just a bit. They covered the distance to William's flat in less than ten minutes, although it would have taken anyone else at least that long.

They took the lift up three stories to the boy's floor, and William knocked on his own door, since Angel's hands were full. His parents answered quickly, both with dark, sleepless circles under their eyes. With cries and sighs of relief, it was a bit of a challenge transferring William to his father-the resemblance to whom was uncanny. They both had the same dark, almost black hair cut similarly short, and their noses were the same long, straight shape. They also both had the same look of earnestness to their eyes, though the father's was far more guarded.

The mother-who was the one making the transfer a challenge under her smothering hugs and kisses-Angel noticed, had her lighter brown hair pulled back in a bun that was almost unnervingly tidy for that early in the morning, even if she hadn't slept on it. Her posture was elegantly curved even as she bent over, and her hands fluttered over her son's injuries, asking questions and demanding answers even while she exclaimed how very relieved she was that he was safe. It was through this uncomfortable physical proximity to so many humans that Angel finally managed to get the boy into his father's arms and promptly disappear, before he would be the one the questions were directed at.

The kid had run away. He could deal with his own problems, and Angel was not about to get in the middle of them.

* * *

For his part, William told the truth to his parents. His mother in particular had taught him to hold truth in high regard, and he explained about how angry and hurt he'd been, and how he'd snuck out, and where exactly it was that the monster had attacked him and that Angel had saved him. He explained about the magic strength plant that Angel had given him, and that he would be fine in no time, ready to play with his friends at the park in a matter of days. His parents had shared significant looks, told him to sleep, and gone off to talk to themselves for a long time.

William allowed himself to be coddled by his mother for the week-and-a-half until his ankle and knee healed enough that he could walk long distances again, unbothered by the childishness of having your mother bring you chicken soup and kiss your injuries to make them feel better (he  _was_ almost 9, after all).

William's thoughts were much too distracted by the strange man named Angel who fought monsters by night.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Angel was used to visitors. He had become, quite unintentionally, the "go-to" guy for questions about demons and the occult. Having not only seen and done more than most, but also read extensively, Angel had become a resource more valued than a library to the local witches, magicians, and demon-fighters. Though not a people-person (had he ever been?), he didn't mind the occasional inquirer, and in fact enjoyed the process of solving problems.

He was neither surprised nor vexed, therefore, when someone knocked on the door one evening, interrupting his musings. He opened it, frowned in puzzlement when his eyes met the blank wall opposite him, and looked down.

Two boys stared eagerly up at him, eyes shining with nervous excitement. One of them was William, the boy he'd saved just over a week ago; an incident Angel had nearly forgotten. He didn't recognize the other boy, who was taller, slightly blonder, and more solid-looking than William. The boy wasn't heavyset, but where William's frame gave the impression that a swiftly-moving stream would whisk him away like a leaf, this boy would be able to stand sturdy as a rock against the current.

"Hi Mr. Angel!" (Angel hated being called  _Mr. Angel_.) "This is my best friend, Calder." The other boy waved cheerily at him. Angel gave the slightest of nods in return. "Can we come in?"

"What do you want?"

"We want to hear about how you fight monsters!"

Angel shushed William quickly. "How many people have you told about that?"

"Just Calder."

"Hey, I have an idea," Angel said, "let's not tell anyone else."

William shrugged. "I wasn't going to. No one else would believe me."

"So can we come in?" Calder interjected. Angel looked over at Calder.

"I'm busy right now." It was half-true. "And it's getting dark." He turned back to William, "You should know to stay inside after sunset."

The boys' faces fell.

"Yeah, I guess so…" William said reluctantly. "Okay…Well, I guess we'll see you later then." He and Calder turned gloomily and ambled back down the hall, leaving Angel to worry about William's usage of the phrase, "See you later."

* * *

Angel's flat was quiet as usual one afternoon a few weeks later. He read peacefully in his favorite armchair (in truth, both of his armchairs were exactly the same, but this one gave him a better view of the whole room), enjoying the tranquility of the flat, the rich, woody, slightly musty scent of his book, and the warmth of the sun streaming through the necro-tempered window (now standard as a melanoma-prevention measure; he couldn't tan from it, but at least he wouldn't burn up, either).

The book was one of his favorites: a collection of essays by German philosophers, dating prior to the 20th century. The concepts wove like vines through his mind, seeking and grabbing hold of the places that invited intellectual challenge. He breathed deeply, as though the words were in the scent so that they would seep further into his mind as paper soaks up water.

BANG!

The gunshot-like noise wrenched Angel back to his flat; his book crashed to the ground as Angel snapped to attention like a soldier caught slacking off. A sobbing child ran past him in a blur from the door (which he was sure must be broken) to the couch under the window. It took several seconds before Angel realized that the child was William. He took an extra moment to breathe—he didn't need to, but it helped settle the adrenaline faster.

The room was eerily quiet again, except for the ragged gasps of the 8-year-old boy who had somehow seen  _Angel_  as a fit person to cry to. Angel ran a hand through his hair. What should he do? He couldn't toss the kid back in the hallway (could he?), but neither did he want to let the kid stay—especially not if he was going to cry all over Angel's furniture. Why had the kid come back to  _him_? Where was his mother? Or do all kids these days burst into strangers' houses whenever they pleased?

William peeked out from behind the now-wet pillow that he'd buried his face into and looked expectantly up at Angel, his eyes still red and glistening, and his breaths heaving in the regularity and smoothness of morse code.

"What?" Angel asked.

"She called me a stupid, ugly, moron-head."

Angel's brain went on temporary shut-down. What was he supposed to say to that?

"She's so dumb." William said bitterly into the pillow.

"Er… Who?"

"Jamina. She lives downstairs." When Angel didn't say anything, William continued. "Why would she do that? I said her hair was a pretty color of brown, like fresh dirt, and then she got really mad and called me a stupid, ugly, moron-head." He gave a great sniff and wiped a few tears off his cheeks. He stared at Angel, and it took Angel a few moments to realize that William's question was not rhetorical, and that William actually wanted advice.

"Oh." Advice? All Angel wanted to do was live a quiet life, away from human problems. Was that too much to ask? "Well. Girls like to feel pretty, and dirt…isn't. So…" Angel finally bent to pick up his book, which was crushing its own pages under its weight.

"What should I say her hair looks like instead?"

"Er, I don't know." Angel sat down and carefully began to unbend the worst of the pages. "Maybe something like cinnamon, or mahogany."

"What's mahogany?"

"That kind of wood over there." Angel pointed to one of the bookshelves without really looking at it. The damage to the book was not as bad as it could have been.

"Mahogany… Okay, what else?"

Angel hesitated. "What else what?"

"What else can you tell me about girls?"

"Oh…." Angel closed the book and set it down on the apothecary table in front of him, letting the book's own weight finish re-flattening the pages.

"Will we be friends again after I tell her her hair is like mahogany?"

Angel didn't answer right away. Personally, he felt that such an argument would be forgotten in a few days' time, but he thought it was probably wiser not to say so. He sighed. "I don't know how she'll take it, William, you'll have to find that out for yourself."

William slumped back into the pillow. Something in him, long-forgotten, reminded Angel that humans liked to end on better notes. He reluctantly continued, "Maybe if you apologize first for insulting her she'll want to be friends again sooner."

William looked thoughtful. "Apologize….okay. I can do that. I'll say, 'Jamina, I'm sorry for saying your hair looks like dirt when it really looks like mahogany.' Will that work?"

Angel bit his lip. "Maybe you can try explaining things from your point of view instead." Angel shifted his weight and gestured awkwardly. The motion felt creaky and shuddering, like the hinges of a door that hadn't been opened in years. "Something like, 'I was trying to compliment your hair and I didn't realize that my compliment would insult you. I never meant to do that and I'm sorry for hurting your feelings.'"

William nodded. "Okay, that's good. Thanks, Mr. Angel! I'm going to go try it right now!" William hopped off the couch and sprinted out the door, calling as he did, "I'll let you know how it works out!"

Then he was gone.

Angel stood up and closed the door, which William had forgotten in his haste to close properly. It was not, in fact, broken. The flat was soothingly quiet again and Angel breathed a sigh of relief. Not bad for his first truly human encounter in a few centuries. He walked back over to the couch and picked up the damp pillow.

So these were the problems of eight-year-old boys? Had his ever been so trivial and amusing? He couldn't remember. He hadn't been in such close contact with a child since his sister was born. His own son…well, he skipped right from cranky it's-time-for-my-nap tears to a case of teenage angst worse than Angel's himself.

A knock at the door brought Angel back to the present; much gentler than his last caller's announcement. He set the pillow down, making a mental note to not forget to clean it, as he had been about to do. Angel answered the door.

"'ello, Angel," his visitor, a short, portly man, said and stepped in. "I was wondering if you knew anything abou' a little demon wif purple horns and smells like rotten cabbage? I seem to 'ave one in me garden…"

* * *

Angel half-wondered if he should move when, a few days later, Calder, William's friend, knocked on Angel's door and marched in with an air of self-confidence. He turned to face Angel once he was properly inside and stuck out his hand as Angel closed the door uncertainly.

"Mr. Angel, I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Calder Gabriel Lauchley."

Angel took his hand hesitantly and asked Calder to address him as "just Angel."

"Wow! Er, okay, Angel. You can call me 'Calder,' then, or 'Cal,' if you want. Well, I guess we should get down to business, huh?" Calder drew himself up. "I need a spell."

Calder correctly interpreted Angel's shocked silence and said, "It's okay, I know magic is real. I wanted to find out what kind of monster attacked William and if you can really fight monsters for a living, because that would be  _so_  much cooler than working in an office like my dad, so I went to the weird-smelling store that mum told me not to go in that one time when she was taking me to Will's and it turns out that the Korean guy with the goatee there knows you!" Angel was doing his best to keep up; run-on sentences like this kid was cranking out were not his forté. "He said you sometimes you buy stuff from him and he said you don't only fight monsters—only he called them demons—you also help people that come to you when they need information on something about magic or demons and stuff. So," Calder finally arrived at his point, "can you help me? I need a spell to help me do well in school."

Angel narrowed his eyes. "No."

Calder's face fell. "Why not?"

"Magic is dangerous, Calder Gabriel Lauchley," Angel said, using the boy's full name for better effect. "It's not to be used for anyone's stupid whim. I've seen a  _lot_  of spells go wrong, kid, and doing better in school can be fixed by working harder."

Calder frowned and shuffled his feet, only slightly abashed. Then he glanced up with a gleam of curiosity. "What kind of things go wrong?"

Angel knelt down so he was eye-level with the boy. "The kinds of things that can go wrong with magic are not the kinds of things I would tell an eight-year-old."

Calder puffed out his chest in indignation. "I'm not eight, I'm almost nine-and-a-half!"

"Oh, well that makes all the difference," Angel nodded like it was his simple mistake. He leaned in conspiratorily. "Alright…sometimes the  _best_  thing that can happen to you if you've done a spell wrong," Angel paused to let the tension build, "is a quick, simple death. If you're really lucky, they'll even be able to recognize your body after it's been turned inside out."

Angel stood and guided a silenced Calder to the door. He opened it and ushered the boy through.

"Oh, by the way, Ferguson's? I would stay away from there. It's not the best place to get your information."

* * *

The bell above Ferguson's door tinkled and Calder looked up. It sure was a strange thing to do, putting bells above doors, when an electronic sensor was much quieter and easy to install, but magical folks themselves seemed strange, so he supposed it fit.

Ferguson's was a small, dusty shop with more wood than Angel's flat. Calder wondered if wood somehow helped magic spells. Though everything was dulled by the dust, hints of the richly-colored books on the shelves in the middle of the shop still shone through, and various jewel-toned powders, liquids, candles, orbs, dried flowers and herbs, and other unidentifiable objects lined the walls. The sun filtered through some deeply-colored glass vases by the window, temporarily painting the floor like a stained-glass window in an ancient church.

To Calder's right and behind the counter, an old Asian man in very worn Irish military attire slept in an old rickety wood chair. Up ahead, another Asian man, younger, though still balding, with a jet black goatee emerged from behind a door. Upon seeing his customer, he chuckled to himself.

"You again? Used to my bell now?"

Calder didn't say anything. The last time he was there, the bell had (embarrassingly) startled him, much to the amusement of the storekeeper.

"So are you actually going to buy something this time or have you come to ask more questions?"

Calder stood up straighter. "I'm just looking today."

The man chuckled again. "Look away. I warn you, though, some of these things I don't sell to kids."

"Like what?"

"Like the stuff you can't reach."

Calder scowled and turned away to peruse the shelves.

"I'll be around if you need anything," the shopkeeper called, and went back through the door, this time leaving it open.

Calder wandered around, trying to appear purposeful even though he had no idea what most of the things he saw were used for. He walked past various canned animal parts (which he stared at in grossed-out fascination for a long time), odd flowers, sparkling powders, shimmering liquids, carved wood boxes, and sharp crystals. He sniffed strange salt-scented and dream-inducing candles, fingered smooth rocks, and gawked at the shrunken heads.

What captivated him the most, however, were the old demon encyclopedias and basic spell books. He sat on the floor and leafed through volume after volume, staring at the gruesome pictures and imagining casting some of the milder spells on certain friends as jokes. He giggled inwardly at the thought of Sean with frog hands.

Keeping an eye on the clock on his Palm, which was inching toward the dinner hour, the time came when Calder finally decided it was time to leave. There were days when Calder arrived home an hour late and only got a mild scolding, and other days when he was ten minutes late and was sent to his room without supper at all. Calder's stomach rumbled and he put the encyclopedia he was looking at back on the shelves. He didn't want to take the chance today.

He was just about to stand up when a short, somewhat hefty book caught his eye:  _Favorite Vampire Legends: Frightening Tales Concerning the World's Most Notorious Vampires_. He pulled it off the shelf. Under the title was embossed:  _Volume III, Year 1000 to Present_. Calder opened the cover and flipped over the first few pages. It was copyrighted 1962. So much for the present. Still, it intrigued him.

Calder checked the price. He'd been planning to buy a new game with his summer chores allowance, but he could actually afford this book now. He had desperately wanted to buy  _Simple Spells for the Starting Sorcerer_ , but it was far out of his price range. He stared at the book in his hands, biting his lower lip, and made up his mind quickly. Standing, he strode over to the counter.

"Excuse me?" he called. The old man in the corner stirred and shouted something in Korean before giving a few snores and drifting back off to sleep. The shopkeeper emerged from the back.

"Yes? Found something, have you?" Calder handed the book to him. "Oh yes, I nearly forgot I had this. You sure you can handle it, now? These really are quite frightening tales." He winked. "Very well, very well, would you like a bag for it?"

"No thank you." Calder held out his wrist so that his silver Palm bracelet would be within the short range of the payment kiosk. The actual device - a thin rectangular tablet - fit easily in his back pocket, where it stayed most of the time. It was linked to the bracelet on his wrist, which, when tapped, projected the screen holographically onto Calder's palm, fully interactable and everything. The actual tablet only came out when Calder wanted to use both hands to use it, like for playing games, or if someone else needed to use it. Some people chose the ring accessory instead of the bracelet, but Calder's mum had insisted on the bracelet because it was less likely to get lost.

The payment kiosk beeped and the shopkeeper handed the book back to Calder, who tucked the book under his arm.

"Come back again," the man called after Calder as he dashed out the door for home.


	3. Chapter 3

 

As he was doing it, Angel wondered why he was opening the door to the little knock when he really wasn't the social type—especially with kids. Nevertheless, that's what he did, and William's face beamed up at him as he opened the door.

"Hi, Angel!" Angel nodded in return as William entered, even though Angel hadn't moved aside for him. "We're still friends!"

"What?"

"Jamina and me are still friends. She was very impressed I knew what mahogany was." He beamed and a smile tugged at the corner of Angel's lips.

"Good. I'm glad it worked out between you two."

Silence fell while William looked happily around the room from where he stood.

"Um, is there something you wanted?" Angel asked.

"Nope," William said cheerfully. "Just coming to visit."

"Oh."

William ambled farther into the room, looking around. Angel gave in. The ancient Gomarian text he was trying to read was giving him a headache anyway. "I'll guess I'll make some tea, then," he said, and closed the door.

Angel liked his kitchen. He didn't have nearly as much wood in there as the rest of his flat—it was a fire hazard with his gas stove that had cost him an arm and a leg to install—but it still maintained an old feel with his antique-style appliances, the porcelain tea set sitting in the corner on the counter, and the small wood table against the wall. It was comforting to be able to immerse himself in a more familiar time when everything else around him changed more rapidly than he could keep up with.

William, who had followed him into the kitchen, plopped down on one of the chairs at the table. His toes brushed the floor as he swung them, looking around. Angel filled a kettle with water and placed it on one of the burners, then sat down opposite the boy, who said,

"I've never seen one of those working before. Every year our school takes us to the history museum where they have a house with different rooms that look like different times. The kitchen has a stove like that, but it's never on. Why do you use that and not a heater like everyone else?"

Angel had never actually used a heater. He knew it to be similar to a microwave, but it was the kind of appliance that people bought for convenience and price rather than the quality of service it offered, and Angel flat-out refused to buy one.

"I like things that are heated slowly more than when they're put in the heater for a few seconds," he replied.

"Why?"

Angel shrugged. "Seems like it stays hotter longer and tastes more authentic." Angel had to explain the word "authentic" at William's puzzled look. "That's why nice restaurants are so expensive, you know: they start from scratch and heat things slowly."

"There's a place we go to sometimes where I have to comb my hair and put on nice clothes. It takes forever for the food to come and by the time it does I'm starving so I eat it really fast."

Angel frowned slightly. "Eating it fast defeats the whole purpose though, don't you think?"

"Why? I ate it. What difference does it make if I ate it fast or slow?"

"Well, when you eat it slowly you can taste it better. It makes for a more enjoyable experience."

William looked pensive and Angel was happy to leave him to his thoughts—which were evidently not long on food.

"Can you tell me more about monsters?"

Angel, who's mind was still on the food track, blinked a few times to catch up.

"Er, like what?"

"Hmm…" William considered the question a moment. Then his eyes lit up, "I know! What's the biggest monster you ever fought?"

Angel made unintelligible noise in his throat, and then was silent with thought and decision. The water in the kettle reached a rapid boil, pushing the steam forcefully enough out the spout to start the whistle. Angel stood to tend to it.

"I'll get the milk!" William said eagerly as he dashed to the fridge. Angel thought nothing of the statement at first; until he realized that it was not milk that he kept in the fridge. Angel suddenly dropped the kettle back on the stove and snapped the fridge door shut before the boy could properly look inside. William jumped at the combined _bang_ of the kettle and the door, and stared at the fridge in shock for a second, as if it hadn't yet dawned on him what happened. He looked up at Angel, bemused.

"I'm out of milk." Angel said. "Sorry. I have some sugar, though… In there." He pointed to a cabinet across the way. William, still dazed, fetched the sugar while Angel prepared the tea. Behind him, William took a breath to ask another question, but Angel spoke first.

"One of the biggest 'monsters' I ever fought was a giant, three-headed, slimy hell-worm." Angel served the tea, sat down, and told the story of how the Sisterhood of the Jhe tried to open the mouth of hell and how Angel helped save a small town on the other side of the world.

* * *

 

Calder raced down the city streets, his heart pounding. With agility and speed like a hunting tiger that came from years of practice, he ducked, jumped, and dodged his way to William's building. He leaped up the front stairs two-at-a-time (a feat he had just recently accomplished when he realized his legs were finally long enough), bounced on the balls of his feet while he waited for the lift, and finally burst through the Cole's door when William's mother opened it for him. He uttered a quick word of greeting to her as he dashed down the hall and into his best friend's room.

William was setting up for an impending war between his World War II soldiers and fleet of spaceships when Calder burst in and collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath probably more dramatically than necessary.

"Hi," William said, used to his friend's unexpected visits. "Wanna be the soldiers?"

Calder shook his head.

"Okay, fine. You can be the spaceships. You can't use the Destroyer C202, though, because that wouldn't be fair."

"I have…to show…you something." Calder managed to say between breaths.

"What?" William turned to look his friend in the eyes.

Calder stared back as seriously as he could and took a few extra gulps of air so he could spill his revelation properly. "Angel," he dropped his voice to a secretive whisper as William leaned in closer, "…is a vampire!"

William frowned and sat back on his heels. "He is not."

"He is too!" Calder cried, indignant that William hadn't reacted like Calder imagined he would.

"Prove it!" William demanded.

"I will!" Calder pulled _Favorite Vampire Legends_ out from his coat pocket. "I got this from that magic store across from the Pope Center, so don't tell my mum about it, okay?"

William nodded and eagerly scooted closer to look at it.

"These are scary stories about vampires," Calder explained, brushing through the pages to find the right chapter. "They always have—oh, you have to read this one sometime about this vampire called 'The Master,' it's really good—they always have pictures of the vampire at the end of the chapter… Here."

Calder handed the book to his best friend and couldn't suppress a wide grin at William's cry of surprise and shock as he stared at the drawing on the page. Calder's jaw had dropped, too. It was Angel. Okay, so his hair was longer in the drawing, his clothing was ancient, and on his face was an eerily evil grin, but…

"And look at this," Calder pointed to the caption where it said, _Angelus, c.1850_ , and covered up the last two letters of the name with his finger. William stared at the word _Angel_ and the picture. " _That's_ _him_ , Will. Angel's a _vampire_. That's why he can fight demons!"

"He was out of milk today. Who runs out of milk…?"

"Huh?"

William told him about the milk, or lack of it, at Angel's flat earlier.

"Of course! Vampires don't drink milk! I wonder what he does keep in there?"

"Blood?" William offered.

"No, vampires drink blood from people. It would be gross all cold and not fresh."

"It would be gross anyway….."

"Not to a vampire. Have you ever seen his room? Does he sleep in a coffin?"

William shrugged. "I don't know."

"Have you ever seen him outside in the day? Vampires don't like sun."

"Well, after he saved me he brought me home in the morning, but it was rainy. I don't know, though, Cal," William said, flipping back a few pages and skimming the story. "Vampires are supposed to be evil, right? I don't think Angel would do any of this stuff. He saved my life and helped me be friends again with Jamina and made me tea. Wouldn't he have eaten me instead?" He paused to scan a passage that caught his eye. "And look," he pointed to the last paragraph, "they think he's dead."

"Exactly, they _think_! No one really knows what happened to him. Around 1900 he just disappeared off the face of the earth. Some vampire hunters say they killed him, but people have seen him after that. His story is the most mysterious of all vampires because no one ever found out why he went into hiding."

"Maybe people just saw his ghost?"

"I don't think vampires can become ghosts… Look at the picture again, Will, it's him! I know it is! If you don't believe me let's go to the magic store tomorrow after school and ask the guy there. He knows him."

"I think we should ask Angel first."

Calder frowned. "You think he'd tell us?"

"Sure, why not?"

"He wouldn't tell me about magic."

"Well if he doesn't then we can go ask at the magic store. Okay?"

Calder sighed. "Okay."

* * *

 

The following day after school the boys dropped their bags off at William's flat, shouted to William's mother that they were going to see a friend, then set off for Angel's.

All the way there, William steeled himself for what they were about to do. If Angel _was_ a vampire—the vampire in the book, no less….well…no, he couldn't be. Wouldn't he have eaten William by now? Or done something else equally horrible to him? And yet the drawing looked just like him. But it wasn't a photo, so maybe the artist didn't know what Angelus really looked like. Maybe it was a coincidence. But the name… It was too similar to be a coincidence, right? William had read the full story, and Angelus seemed good at pretending to be nice, like he had been to William. He might just be biding his time, waiting for them to get bigger before he ate them, so they would have more blood for him to drink. But what if the fact that they knew about him made him decide to eat them now, so they wouldn't tell anyone else?

Of course, this last horrible thought occurred to him only after it was too late and they had knocked on Angel's door, as most horrible thoughts do. Angel answered faster than he normally did (or was it just William?), and they waited for him to step back before crossing the threshold. The door closed with an ominous _click_. William bit his lip. He and Calder had agreed that William should be the one to ask.

"Just visiting again, or do you want something?" Angel asked.

William bit his lip harder and Calder jabbed him with his elbow.

"You're a vampire!" William blurted. His eyes widened in shock and he clamped his jaw shut. That wasn't at all what William meant to say, but it _was_ quick, to the point, and, most importantly, over with. It was clear Angel didn't quite know how to respond to this, so William added, "aren't you?"

Angel didn't respond: he seemed to be thinking about what to say. William decided to continue.

"We found this book…" From under his jacket, William pulled out the book Calder had bought. Angel took it and read the cover and the table of contents. Studying his face, the boys could not see a hint of the names that jumped out at Angel from among dozens, though they could tell from his eyes they had clearly hit on something.

"Here." William said, and turned to the chapter on Angelus. When Angel saw the drawing he paused and flipped back a page, scanning the end of the chapter. Then he checked the copyright date and looked up.

"Your book is out-of-date." He handed it back to them and looked at Calder. "Didn't I tell you Ferguson's isn't the best place to get your information?" Calder flushed. "If you want to know more about vampires," Angel walked over to one of the bookshelves, "try this one. It's short, but accurate."

He pulled off a small book that could have been no more than 100 pages in length and gave it to the boys. "I'm going to make some tea. I bought some milk last night." He addressed William, who smiled slightly.

Angel returned several minutes later to find the boys on the couch deeply engrossed in the book. He sat down and began to pour the tea.

"What?" he asked as Calder started and failed to say something several times.

"Well…this is great," Calder said, looking at the book, "but…what I really want to know is….what about you?"

"What about me?" Indicating the tray, Angel added, "Sugar? Milk?"

"Both," Calder replied. "Well, you _are_ a vampire, right? I mean, you're really pale and really strong and you have a fridge but you don't keep milk in it! And vampires live forever, so it could be you in the picture, right? It looks just like you and the name is almost the same."

Angel set the cups of tea in front of the boys before answering, "Yes, that's me."

"This book says that vampires are killers," William said, his heart thudding harder against his chest again. "Does that mean you're going to kill us?"

"No."

"Why?"

Angel laced his fingers together and sighed, more from the decision facing him than frustration. "I told you," he said, "your book is out-of-date. It doesn't tell the full story, nor is it completely accurate." He paused. "It's _supposed_ to be a book of scary stories. Many of the facts are exaggerated and some just aren't true."

"So you didn't really do all these things?" William asked, hopeful.

Angel hesitated. "Not _those_ things." Then he added, "There weren't actually any witnesses for most of these…stories. People made thing up based on rumors."

Calder leaned forward eagerly. "What rumors?"

Angel sat still in his chair, contemplating something for a moment. Then he bent forward to pick up his cup. "Alright," he said, leaning back. "I'll tell you my story. But I'll be honest with you: I won't give you the full details."

"Why?" Calder asked.

Angel glanced at him, and neither boy could decipher his expression. "It's a really long story," he said, and paused to sip some tea. "You see, I was turned into a vampire in 1753…"


	4. Chapter 4

For the next several weeks William and Calder found it difficult to pay attention in class. Who wanted to learn about fractions or adverbs when you had a dangerous vampire for a friend? Unfortunately, the school's network would not allow for personal Palms to be used for anything other than school-related research and communication during school hours, and  _no one_  whispered while the teacher was talking. They settled, therefore, for playground corners and private lunch tables. After school  _finally_  let out, their bedrooms were the place of choice for excited speculation and boasting between themselves.

The sudden seclusion hardly went unnoticed by William's mother, who's curiosity caught her pausing for a few seconds to eavesdrop every time she walked by the closed bedroom door. Every time she asked William what they were doing, he had a response ready that sounded plausible enough that Mrs. Cole was quite sure William was not being truthful. However, as she did not have any evidence to support her suspicions, she stayed quiet. Judith Cole was not the type of mother to pry into her son's business, so long as she had sufficient reason to believe he was safe, and so it was quite by accident when she discovered a book on William's floor while she was searching for dirty clothes.

The fact that there was a paper book at all in William's room was intriguing in itself and to hold it gave the amateur historian in her a thrilling jolt, but it was the title that interested her the most:  _Favorite Vampire Legends: Frightening Tales Concerning the World's Most Notorious Vampires_.

She flipped through the book, blue-grey eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Was this what they were doing all alone? Reading scary stories to each other? It was puzzling. Harmless, she supposed, but puzzling. She put the book on her son's desk, making a note to ask him about it later and resumed the laundry duties.

William's answer about the book that night satisfied her. He explained that it was Calder's book and that he had accidentally left it there the previous day. Yes, they had been reading it, and the only reason they didn't tell her was that they were afraid she would think it was too scary for them.

"It's not," he assured her, "it's just fun." That, with an apology, sated her curiosity. For a few days, anyway.

She and William were walking home a few nights later, each carrying a bag of groceries, when William suddenly cried out, "Angel!"

Mrs. Cole started, for she would not have seen this man had William not pointed him out.

"Hello, William," the man named Angel said, approaching. He was slightly familiar, as was his name, but she couldn't place him. He wore a long jacket and held it tight across himself, as though he were cold. He was quite pale; and his dull eyes suggested great fatigue. Perhaps he was sick? He suddenly looked up from William and caught her eyes.

Mrs. Cole often prided herself on being somewhat intuitive about a person's disposition, but what happened when they caught eyes had never happened to her before, and it shook Mrs. Cole to her core. Something evil and malevolent lashed out at her, but like a mad man straining against his bars it was quickly forced back. Guards of kindness and knowledge blocked the view of the mad man, yet Angel's eyes remained eerily empty and it was a wonder they contained anything at all. The sensation passed, and she took a moment to catch her breath.

"You're William's mother?" He said it like a question that he should know as fact, his eyes narrowing at her like he might have vaguely recognized her if he thought hard enough. Even so, he slowly offered a hand, keeping the other arm tightly against himself.

She took it warily, her stomach clenched in irrational apprehension. His hand was freezing. "Yes, I'm Judith Cole."

"Pleasure." It did not sound like a pleasure to him. He took his hand back and secured it once again over his abdomen.

"Angel saved me, Mum. He brought me back home, remember?"

Of course,  _now_ she knew why he was familiar. She hadn't gotten much of a look at him that night, but William had mentioned his name several times during his fantastical story about what had happened. She and her husband Sam had worried about the story, and had, of course, filed a full report with the police that there was a dangerous person lurking in the allies of the eastern part of the city. The part about the monsters, though… They decided that if that was the story that helped him cope, they wouldn't try to correct it. Not yet, anyway.

So this was her son's rescuer. A small bit of the apprehension lifted.

"Oh yes, certainly," Judith Cole said, pulling herself properly together to give him a gracious smile. "You know, Angel, we never did get a chance to thank you for what you did for us. I don't know how we can-"

"It's alright," Angel interrupted. "It was no trouble. Really."

"Are you okay?" William asked, looking at Angel's clenched arms.

"I'm fine. I'm just a little…under the weather. It'll be gone by morning."

"Well, we'll let you get your rest, then. It was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you again," Judith said with the same sincerity that Angel had used, though hopefully more convincing. The meeting had been quite the opposite of pleasurable, though she did owe him a deep thanks. Also, she would never miss an opportunity to demonstrate to William how polite people conduct themselves in conversation. She smiled.

"I don't know what I'd do without my Will." She gave William a little squeeze with her free arm. Angel nodded a farewell to the both of them and moved on.

She watched him as he passed, and Judith's jaw dropped slightly in shock: a bloody hole was pierced through the back of Angel's jacket. Before she could get a proper look, however, he had rounded the corner and was gone. She steered William home, trying to ignore the nagging thoughts that Angel's ailments were not a simple stomachache.

* * *

William's 9th birthday was on a Saturday in August a few weeks later. On that day, he woke up early, shouted that he and Calder were going out for a bit before his party that afternoon, and dashed off. When he returned a few hours later, Calder was with him and they were in deep discussion as they made their way down the hall and into William's bedroom.

The party went smoothly, Judith Cole thought, and William happily played with his other friends, the knowing glances and quick smiles to Calder gone unnoticed by all but Judith.

As she put her tired son to bed that night, her foot kicked something under the bed. Bending down, she picked up another book; this one smaller than the one she had found a few weeks ago, and its cover would not close completely. By the dim light of a small lamp, she could just make out the title:  _Vampires: A Brief Guide_. She took another look at William, fast asleep, kissed him, and left with the book.

Sam was not at home due to business out of the country, so Judith made no attempt to hurry as she readied for bed and settled in to read the book. As she opened it, something slipped out and fell into her lap. She picked it up.

It was a wood crucifix about the size of her palm on a red string. The longest part of the cross sharpened to a point and a piece of paper was rolled around it. Unraveling the paper, she read a message in elegant cursive (which she was sure William did not know how to read),

_May you never need to use this._

She puzzled at it for a minute before realizing there was handwriting in the book where the cross had fallen out. It said in the same slanted penmanship,

_To William Cole on his 9_ _th_   _birthday. Remember, the best way to stay out of trouble is to not go looking for it._

_Angel_

Angel? The Angel who had saved William and brought him home? The one about whom William insisted had magical strength-plants, and had rescued him from a real life monster?

(Well, of course whoever had attacked and hurt her son was a monster in Judith's book; the fact that this person was still at large gave her no small amount of nightmares when she closed her eyes to sleep.)

She turned the pages of the book to chapter one, read the first sentence, and couldn't stop until she had turned the last page. Phrases jumped out at her; like, "one must drink blood from the vampire itself to be turned…," "vampires know no remorse, and therefore know no mercy. It is best, then, upon meeting a vampire, to kill it as quickly as possible…," "…the head must be completely severed from the body…," "…the strength of a vampire is such that they have been known to snap human spines like matchsticks," and so on.

It was after midnight when she finished and though she turned out the light and pushed herself under her covers, she could not fall asleep. The overwhelming crowd of thoughts and gruesome images jumped and shouted through her head, all vying for attention. One in particular presided through her restless dreams, never yelling as the others, but holding a strong dominance as it ceaselessly repeated in varying forms,  _Who is this person and what the hell are they teaching my son?_

* * *

Judith woke up at the usual time the next morning and began cooking breakfast. Not long after, William ambled into the kitchen, still in his pajamas and his dark hair messy. Judith served him his eggs and sat down opposite him, taking a bite before beginning her interrogation.

"So, do you still see Angel much?"

William froze. "Angel?" he asked.

"Yes, the dark-haired man who brought you home. We ran into him on the way back from the store the other night. I gathered from our exchange that you've spoken with him since the night you ran away. Is that true?"

"Sometimes." William mumbled.

Though not unexpected, she had been afraid of that. "Does he live far from here?"

William shook his head. "Just a few minutes."

"Where?"

William didn't answer.

"Excuse me, William, but I asked you a question. Will you please answer?"

William said reluctantly, "In the flat building beside Sweet Brennan's Bakery."

"What do you do when you visit him?"

"…Have tea."

Judith raised her eyebrows. "Have tea?"

William nodded.

"How long have you been visiting him?"

William did not answer right away, but they both knew he could not escape answering the question, so William finally mumbled, "Ever since he saved me."

Judith kept her shock to herself. That long? He'd been slipping away from her for weeks, and like an oblivious mother, content in her own perfect baby's inherent honesty—the kind of mother she had vowed never to become when he was born—she believed him. How had she let herself become so easy to deceive?

"William, will you do me a favor? Don't go visit him until I've had time to speak to him."

"What! No, Mum!"

"William, please. I just want to make sure it's safe."

"It's safe, I know it is!"

"William. Do not visit him today, alright? And come straight home from school tomorrow."

"No, Mum!"

"Yes, William." Her voice raised to a tone of finality. "This is not negotiable. You will stay home today and come straight home tomorrow afternoon. Understood?" William set his face into a crushed scowl, but nodded. "Thank you."

The rest of the meal was eaten in stony silence.

* * *

Judith found Angel's flat easily enough that afternoon. A moment after she knocked on his door, Angel opened it.

He was tall, she noticed, and her already nerve-ridden stomach clenched a bit more. Judith was a little taller than average at roughly 5' 7", but Angel's figure was imposing, both in height and in sheer potential of power. He'd fought off an attacker, after all. His shoulders and head slumped forward a bit, but he seemed entirely comfortable in his own body and command of it. His bulk spoke of muscle rather than fat, and Judith had to remind herself that if he'd saved a child, she was probably safe meeting with him alone.

"Mr. Angel?" Though her posture was habitually straight, Judith pulled herself up. As a former dancer, she was also comfortable in her own body, and while that didn't give her physical strength, she found it gave her an imposing air of a quieter sort when she decided to own it. "I'm Judith Cole, William's mother. I wondered if I could have a word…?"

Angel opened the door wider, backing away, and she stepped in. She had an opener all figured out, but the oddity of Angel's flat caught her off guard as she entered. She stared wondrously at all the wood, old furniture, and paper books for several seconds before realizing where she was and why. Coming to herself again, she made a small swallow before beginning.

"Mr. Angel-"

"Just Angel."

"Very well, Angel. First I would like to extend my gratitude again for what you did for our family."

"It's no problem," Angel replied, "really. You don't need to mention it."

Judith bowed her head in acknowledgement, and then took a breath. "I know William's been coming to see you."

Angel looked like this was not news to him. "Is that bad?"

"It is when he's been hiding this fact from me. For weeks he's been coming here and I had no idea. He said he made a new friend and led me to believe that it was a peer from school he was coming to play with. This deception bothers me."

"It seems like your son is the one you should talk to, not me."

"Oh, I have. And I will again. That's not why I came today." Angel waited expectantly. Judith continued, "I came because I'm concerned. My son has been keeping things from me and sneaking off. I need to know why, and I need to know who you are. I need to know what you talk about and do while he's here. William has never deceived me before as he has these past few weeks. It worries me."

Angel's eyes shifted around the room. "And what," Angel asked, "could I say to comfort your worries that William could not?"

"Not much, I admit. But William's proven to me that he can be untrustworthy, so I need to look elsewhere for my information." She paused, gathering her courage. "Some people will tell me that the fact that you rescued and took care of my son should be proof enough of your goodness, but a mother's job is to worry and be skeptical of strangers, you see. Everything I know about little boys tells me they like to run outside in the mud, pull girls' hair, and scream and shout with other little boys. Not once have I heard of them skipping off on opportunities to get dirty and burn off all their energy on the playground, to come sip tea quietly with an adult." She let her last sentence hang in the air.

"Mrs. Cole, what is it you think we do here?"

"Honestly, I don't know. But I've talked with William's friend Calder's mother—I'm sure you know Calder—she confirms what I have observed: that they lock themselves up in their rooms everyday after school. I need to know that what they're doing is safe and healthy. I need to know if you've been telling them things or showing them…something, I don't know. All I know is, I'm worried and you seem to be the cause of it."

"The boys aren't exposed to anything here I wouldn't tell my own 9-year-old son."

"And what  _are_  they exposed to?"

Angel shrugged. "I'm a good storyteller. They like hearing adventure stories."

Judith bit her lip. "Stories like the kind from  _Favorite Vampire Legends_?"

Angel raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, but that didn't ease the unnerving intensity of his gaze.  _His eyes are dark_ , Judith thought, and not just in color.

"Angel, I don't mind William listening to scary stories. Goodness knows, if it gets him to read, I may even encourage it. But I draw the line at graphic books about vampires."

His eyebrows raised again, slightly. "You read it?" he asked.

"Yes I read it. Cover to cover. It is obvious to me you do not have a child, Angel, for I do not believe you would want them to read such dark and disturbing material. No 9-year-old needs to know how to become a vampire or how kill one or how to recognize one. It's simply too gruesome to fill a young mind with." Judith was aware that she had ended her sentence with a preposition, but she was also aware that this was not the time to correct it.

Angel did not respond, much to Judith's annoyance. An apology was generally customary in these circumstances. Instead, Angel watched Judith in the way that one who has just presented a riddle watches the person who is puzzling the riddle out. A complete silence fell over the flat. An old clock ticked quietly somewhere in the room. Other than that, the only sound that could be heard was their breathing.

No wait,  _her_  breathing. Judith stared at Angel and inwardly started. He was staring at her as still as a statue;  _and he wasn't breathing_. Had he not just blinked, she would have thought him a wax figure. Her eyes tried to play tricks on her, to tell her he was indeed breathing, just shallowly and slowly, but it was no use: the folds from the way his sweater hung off his body were as still as carved stone.

Angel's eyes shifted from Judith to a small table behind her. She turned and saw a wooden stake resting there. Her eyes grazed the titles of various books on the shelves beside it. Demons and magic and curses and witches and vampires jumped out at her. Her mind began to twist down impossible and strangely logical paths.

He didn't breathe. He was pale as the moon. He sported a puncture wound all the way through his torso one night, and not a week later was completely healed. He lived an old-fashioned life surrounded by books of the supernatural, of creatures of the night. He had wood stakes. He had tales of dark adventures.

William-an honest kid, Judith credited to herself-insisted that Angel had saved him from a real, snarling, reptilian monster and knew about potion-making.

It all began to fall impossibly into place, each piece making a louder click as it snapped into the next bit of logic. She turned back to Angel, who seemed to have been waiting for her to figure it out. Her eyes met his and the same shocking sensation overcame her as it had the other night. With a jolt, she understood.

She knew what he must be, though her common sense told her he couldn't. But she could be sure… There were tests. She'd just read about them. Judith withdrew  _Vampires: A Brief Guide_  from her purse.

"Take this back. William is too young to have it." As she handed the book back to Angel, she purposefully let the cover open slightly so that the cross slid across the smooth pages and onto his open palm. The wood seared his skin and Angel growled— _growled_ —as the book and cross clattered to the floor. He looked up at her in shock, cradling his hand, his eyes no longer dark.

Though her heart pounded, Angel's deformed face and knife-sharp teeth were not the most terrifying thing she'd ever faced. The most terrifying thing she'd ever faced was the night she thought she'd lost her son. She crossed the distance between them in two strides.

"You're not to come near my son anymore," she commanded in a low, clear, unwavering tone, her face inches from his. "If you  _ever_  hurt a hair on him, I will kill you."

Then she turned on her heel and left.


	5. Chapter 5

The next several days were not pleasant ones in the Cole household. Judith had come home from Angel's and forbidden William to step foot anywhere near Angel _ever_ again. Not negotiable. Not "for just five minutes." Never. End of discussion.

When Mr. Cole returned home, Mrs. Cole wasted no time explaining the new rules, minus a few key points, knowing that William would jump at his father's ignorance to get permission to go out. Sure enough, she had no sooner sat her husband down than a door in the direction of William's room snapped angrily shut, frustrated sniffles clearly audible.

The atmosphere in the flat was at a constant boiling point. William became sulky and prone to outbursts, Judith remained tight-lipped and fearful that William would find a way to undermine her, and Sam found himself caught in the middle and felt—though Judith assured him there was nothing more to tell about this Angel-fellow—quite in the dark about _something_.

He didn't believe her story that Angel was involved in drug-dealing. William was not old enough to pretend that look of hurt indignation on his face as he yelled, "he is NOT!" Sam pushed as hard as he could, but his wife may as well have been a brick wall for all the good it did. Once again, the lines of communication between Mr. and Mrs. Cole were broken, and neither of them knew how to fix it.

* * *

Calder visited William whenever he could. Mrs. Cole had warned Mrs. Lauchley that she might want to keep Calder away from Angel, whom she had reason to believe was involved in "shady deeds." Mrs. Lauchley agreed and forbade Calder from visiting Angel.

Calder went to visit Angel once anyway, but it wasn't the same without William. Angel did, however, give Calder the cross to covertly return to William, as Angel had little use for it. William wore the cross under his shirt in passive resistance; and it gave him immense satisfaction to feel it against his skin as each new argument broke out.

The day came not even a week after Judith had approached Angel, as she knew it must, when the Cole household exploded. Accusations shot like guns, insults tore at hearts, and rants transferred all the build up anger and frustration from one person to another. Mr. Cole stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind him (not a first), William ran to his room, blinded by tears, slammed _his_ door, and Judith, at a loss for what else to do, also closed the door behind herself as she retreated into her own bedroom.

A few minutes later, William's tear-streaked face peered out from his side of the hall. His mother's muffled sobs seeped under the door. Quietly, he closed his door behind him and stole out of the flat into the darkness.

Angel had been about to go out when William burst through his door, hurtling it with a bang into his wall, the handle narrowly missing a framed vintage photo of Los Angeles city streets at night.

Angel was usually pretty good at dealing with surprises. He had prevailed spectacularly in more than his share of out-of-the-blue demon attacks, and he felt his reflexes had never been better. Unexpected, violent, to-the-death battles Angel could deal with. But when the little boy burst through Angel's door, tears flying behind him, and launched himself against Angel in a surprisingly tight embrace, Angel found he was woefully unprepared for how to react.

William sobbed into Angel's shirt. At a loss for what else to do, Angel uncomfortably patted the boy on the head.

Angel felt a hot, almost burning sensation against his lower stomach. He pulled William's collar slightly aside and found the red string resting on his neck.

"Okay," he said, and, lifting the boy under the arms, took him to the couch. "I'll make you some tea." He gave William a pillow to hold on to and left to heat some water, closing the front door and hanging up his jacket on the way.

When Angel returned he set the cup of tea on the apothecary table in front of the couch, where William was curled up in a fetal position.

William sat up. "Thanks." He snuffled, picking up the tea and taking a sip. "It's good." He tried to rub some of the redness out of his eyes.

Angel waited for William to drink a little before asking, "So are you going to tell me why you're here?"

Through sniffles, William told Angel about the fight he'd just had with his parents. When he stopped talking Angel considered him a few moments.

"Do you know why she won't let you come here anymore?"

William nodded. "She doesn't think it's safe for me to come to a stranger's house all the time. But I told her it is safe and you're not a stranger at all!"

"Did you tell her why it's safe?"

William frowned. "What do you mean?"

Angel leaned forward. "Did you tell her why you think it's okay for you to come here, knowing what I am and what I've done?"

William furrowed his brow in confusion. "No. She doesn't know you're a vampire. If I told her she'd think I'm crazy."

Aha. If there was one thing Angel knew about, it was the problems that lack of communication could cause. Angel grinned slightly, though he wasn't sure why. "Yes she does, William. That's why she doesn't want you near me."

William's face suddenly shone with a brilliant, glowing hope; the kind that only children seem to be able to achieve. "So you can explain it to her! Explain everything like you did for me! Explain how you're good now and you help people instead of eating them! Tell her everything; then she'll _have_ to let me come back! _Please_!"

Angel studied the boy's eyes. It was incredible how much depth could come out of such a small person as he pleaded with all his might for Angel to fix everything. Angel took a breath.

"I could tell her," he began, "but if she doesn't want to hear it, there's not much I can do. I can't force her to change her mind." William's face fell. "It might be better if she heard it from you."

"She won't listen to me."

"Maybe she will now."

William sighed and set down his tea cup so he could flop back onto the pillow.

"I'm going to go call your mother," Angel said, taking the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over the boy. "I'll be back soon."

Angel resisted the paternal urge to stroke William's hair before leaving.

The library lights were dim as Angel sat down to call Mrs. Cole. Holding his breath in a habitual gesture of apprehension, he tapped through the directory until he found the Cole residence, selected the entry, and waited.

Mrs. Cole's emotionally fatigued face appeared on the screen in the wall, hardening into cold suspicion as soon as she recognized Angel.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Mrs. Cole. Look, I know it's late," Angel took a breath, "but I just thought you'd like to know that William is here." Her eyes shifted into an expression of shock and mild skepticism.

"Just a minute," she said, and she disappeared from view. Angel heard a soft knock, William's name, a door open, and a muffled gasp somewhere in the background. A few seconds later, Mrs. Cole reappeared.

"What do you want?" she demanded. "Money? Fame? I'll give you money, but I'm not breathing a word of this to anyone. You're not going to get any glory by messing with _our_ lives!"

"No," Angel tried to ignore the sting in his gut. He didn't care what people thought of him, remember? "I didn't kidnap your son; he ran away. Again," he emphasized a little harder than he meant to. "Look, I just called to let you know where your son is and that he's safe. That's all."

"Safe?" she repeated.

Angel shivered slightly. Her quiet tone of icy disbelief and piercing stare reminded Angel eerily of Cordelia.

"I may be human, but I'm not an idiot. I know what you are."

Angel glared coldly back at her for a moment, gripping his hands together in an effort to gather composure. "But I guess you don't remember that I saved your son's _life_."

Most people would have missed it, but Angel noticed the slight shift in her eyes that told him she _had_ forgotten the incident that caused this whole mess in the first place. Mrs. Cole crossed her arms.

"You brought him home, yes. But that does not give you a gold medal of honor. Given enough time, the police would have found him and brought him home, as well."

Angel snorted. "What they could _find_ of him." Speaking through a cold jaw, Angel said, "I don't kill people, Mrs. Cole. Now, if you want, I'll bring William home right now. Otherwise, you can pick him up in the morning. It's up to you."

Mrs. Cole considered his proposition with unblinking eyes, neither option of which she seemed to much care for. Finally, with a countenance of preserving dignity, though her eyes fell in cold submission, she said, "Very well. Please bring him here."

Angel nodded and turned off the screen without saying goodbye.

* * *

Mrs. Cole answered the door almost immediately.

"Oh, William," Mrs. Cole whispered, and gently kissed William's forehead. She stroked his head a moment, then looked up at Angel. She hesitated a moment before quietly thanking him. He nodded once in acknowledgement. Then came the awkward moment of silence. Finally, Mrs. Cole said,

"His room is just down the hall, here, if you could…." Mrs. Cole stepped back into the flat and held the door open for Angel. Angel felt the invisible barrier gently pushing him away from the door and he glanced around uncomfortably.

"I…I can't…"

Mrs. Cole looked at him quizzically. Angel elaborated, "I haven't been invited…"

Understanding crossed her face. It seemed to take forever for her to make up her mind.

"A-alright. Um… How exactly do I…invite you? I mean, is there a special phrase, or…?"

"No," Angel replied. "Anything that can be construed as an invitation will work." Then he added, quietly, "You need to be careful about that, actually."

She nodded. "Well, then." She took a breath of resolve, "Come in."

The barrier vanished instantly. Angel hesitated, then stepped forward across the threshold.

"Back here." She led Angel down the hall and into a room filled with spaceships, soldiers, dinosaurs, building blocks, and other more modern toys Angel did not recognize.

Mrs. Cole pulled back the covers on William's bed and Angel laid him down. He stepped back while Mrs. Cole took off William's shoes, and by the time she turned to inquire about the blanket, he was gone.

* * *

Angel had just warmed up breakfast when Mrs. Cole came in the early afternoon of the following day. Leaving the glass in the kitchen, he answered.

"Good day," Mrs. Cole said with a stiff politeness as Angel opened the door to her. She held out the folded blanket she was holding, as if presenting a solemn award. Angel took it, just as solemnly. He expected Mrs. Cole to end it there, but instead she spoke.

"Angel, may I come in for a moment?"

He stepped aside reluctantly, placing his blanket on a nearby chair before closing the door behind Mrs. Cole. He half expected to find her holding a stake in her hand when he turned around, but she was facing him with her hands clasped only around each other in front of herself, her purse slung back behind one hip-very inconvenient if she planned on withdrawing anything from it. Angel took a moment to realize that this was a mere human being he was evaluating for confrontation.

He squared himself up, matching her straight posture as he waited for her to say whatever it was she'd come to tell him.

"William told me a strange story this morning. He told me about a horribly evil vampire—quite brutal and cruel, by the sound of it—who was cursed by gypsies hundreds of years ago to be good. Now he goes about saving people, trying to make up for the thousands he killed when he was bad."

Angel didn't say anything.

"Is it true?"

Angel considered his response. "More or less."

"How much?"

Angel appraised her a moment before speaking. He was so tired of giving this explanation, this excuse for his good behavior or his bad behavior. He'd come to appreciate the darker community of Galway; the demons and vampires and other creatures he dealt with and commanded respect from. They never asked questions or tried to figure him out.

But Judith Cole was a human being, and human beings had certain needs: to analyze things, corroborate their beliefs with their experiences, to be given all information they think could possibly be relevant to them. Angel owed nothing to this woman, but his own human side wasn't so lost that he didn't feel an intrinsic-and also inconvenient-pull to give her the explanation she wanted. More than anything, his parental side understood the need to know if your son will be safe.

"The moment you become a vampire," Angel told her, "your soul—your conscience—leaves your body and the demon takes over. For 150 years that's what I was. Just the demon. Innately evil without a conscience to separate good from bad."

He paused briefly to watch her nod thoughtfully as the information sank in. Then he continued, "When I was cursed with a soul, not only could I suddenly distinguish between right and wrong, not only could I remember every single wrong thing I'd done _ever_ , but," he took a breath, "I also cared."

She nodded slowly again, but the corners of her mouth began to turn down in a hard frown. "And now as penitence you save people? How touching. Have you filled your quota yet? Have you saved as many as you killed?"

"I stopped counting a long time ago." Angel hesitated and decided that she could both take what he had to say, and she that had the right to hear it. "What William told you was misleading. I don't go looking for people to save anymore. If I come across someone in trouble, like your son, I'll step in. But after a few hundred years of realizing that nothing you do will absolve you of your sins, you tend to stop trying so hard. And the price for trying to absolve yourself is…more than you can imagine."

Mrs. Cole studied Angel hard, her gaze as scrutinizing as Cordelia's and commanding as Darla's. Angel felt like a man facing a supreme judge and suppressed a shiver.

"So you've given up," she said.

"It's not quite so simple."

"Isn't it? I will never be a perfect mother. Should I stop trying?"

"Of course not," Angel shook his head. "A parent has to do whatever they can for their child; the bond of duty is," the words caught ever so briefly in his throat, "unbreakable. This is completely different. The people I hurt are long gone and…there are factors you will never know. Like I said: I'll help people who need it. But I don't search for lost souls to save anymore."

Mrs. Cole contemplated him for a moment. "Then why not give in completely?" she asked finally, now crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Wouldn't it be easier to live like you used to, to give into your innate evil, even with a conscience? Many criminals do it."

"I tried that once. It didn't work out too well."

Mrs. Cole bit her lip, evidently trying to work out if that was something to be viewed positively. Angel thought it should be, but then, he couldn't exactly be objective about it.

"So being good is just a default?" she asked eventually.

Angel didn't answer immediately. "I learned from…that experience…that if nothing I do will matter in the end, then all that matters is what I do now. So I chose the side of good, even if it wouldn't choose me."

Mrs. Cole raised her eyebrows. "That's profound."

"I thought so."

There was silence again, during which time Mrs. Cole seemed to decide that it was time to go. She nodded decisively and made for the door, which Angel opened for her. Halfway out, she paused and looked back at Angel.

"Angel, I need several days to digest all of this. Depending on… I don't know what. Depending, William and I may stop in. If that's alright."

Angel hid his surprise. Had he passed some sort of test? He hadn't even tried to leave room for the benefit of doubt.

Angel didn't like social calls, but he saw no reason to burn bridges, either. "I'll make sure to have some milk for the tea," he said.

* * *

Angel heard nothing from the Coles for more than a week. His life temporarily resumed the quiet solace he was used to, interrupted only occasionally by someone wanting supernatural advice. And, of course, that one night when the Doctor and the chaos that seemed to follow him interrupted the solace like a minor explosion. 

As the milk sat in his fridge he vaguely wondered if it would be there until it went sour. It gradually got pushed back behind jugs of blood as the days passed.

One day, a Teufel demon came to see him. She was new to the area and looking for a place to nest. Angel had told her that he wasn’t a real estate agent, but that he knew a guy--

No, no, she’d interrupted, it was just that there was a lot of ritualistic preparation to do before she could lay her eggs, and she was hoping she could pay him to prepare a few of the things she needed for protective wards during the six months she would be nesting.

“The father doesn’t want anything to do with us, you see,” she explained, laying on the single mother desperation through tear-filled reptilian eyes. “He’s already got child support for two thousand others…”

Angel was unsympathetic to her plight, since Teufel females routinely kicked the male out of the nest after fertilization, if not kill him outright. He pointed this out to her, and her face had fallen briefly before perking back up and saying cheerfully that she couldn’t be blamed for trying to get a discount, and then offered a sizable sum to prepare the wards. Angel agreed and promised to have them ready by that night.

He was in the midst of preparing the powder that was to be sprinkled around doors, windows, and other cracks when there was a knock at the door. It wasn’t a strong knock, but it had substance (if knocks could have substance), and it was steady. Couple that with the two sets of footsteps that had preceded the knock (one adult-size, and one child-size), and Angel was pretty sure he knew who it was. He wished they had only waited a little while longer. He glanced at the powder. It needed to be charged with power from a simple spell and then quickly encased in glass. It would stay fresh a few more minutes, but he couldn’t delay much longer than that.

Cursing mildly to himself, he got up quickly to answer the door. When he opened it, he saw the forced calm, steady face of Judith Cole, but heard the excited voice of William.

“Hi, Angel!” A shadow of a smile crept onto Angel’s face--though he couldn’t have said why--as he opened the door wider for them to come in. 

“What are you doing?” William asked, immediately noticing various herbs and jars of ingredients on Angel’s apothecary table.

“Uh…” Angel hesitated. “Protective ward,” he admitted, hoping that it sounded innocuous enough to not raise a red flag for Mrs. Cole. For good measure, he added, “there’s this nesting demon mother who needs it to keep her young safe...”

Mrs. Cole narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Her  _ demon  _ young?”

Angel swallowed nervously. “Yeah.”

He could almost hear the alarms in his head:  _ Abort now! Mother disapproves! Danger!  _

“Wow!” William exclaimed, “Can I help?” 

“ _ No _ .” 

William’s face fell. Angel caught Mrs. Cole’s eyes, but quickly looked away. She  _ had  _ to choose the moment he was doing  _ magic _ to stop by.

“Well. I hope it’s not a bad time,” she said, clearly realizing that it was.

“No,” Angel lied. “No, it’s fine.” There was a brief pause. “It’s just that this is time-sensitive, and I need to finish, so…”

“Can we watch?” William asked eagerly.

“No,” Angel said again, racking his brains for something to distract William. “Hey, why don’t you go show your mom how you can turn on a gas stove? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

“Good idea,” Mrs. Cole agreed. “I’d like to see that, Will.” She pointedly took his hand. With one last glance at the magic ingredients, William agreed and led his mother to the kitchen. 

Angel sat down and finished the powder quickly, murmuring the words under his breath so that the people in his kitchen couldn’t hear. The tiny brown granules vibrated gently as he funneled them into a glass jar and closed the lid tightly.

Angel took his time sweeping the spilled powder away and stashing his ingredients in the various drawers of his apothecary table. He glanced occasionally in the direction of his kitchen and the voices coming from it, wondering how long they were planning on staying. Angel surprised himself with the thought that he wouldn’t mind if it were just the boy in there—an eager listener to his adventure stories—but the mother… 

Finally, there was nothing left to do but rinse the bowl he had used to mix everything. Steeling himself, he picked up the bowl and returned to his guests.

William was just finishing telling his mother how things tasted better when heated slowly as Angel entered and made his way to the sink.

“How’d it go?” William asked eagerly.

“Fine,” Angel replied, turning on the faucet. “Water nearly ready?” He noted the steam beginning to issue from the kettle. He shook the excess water from the bowl and placed it carefully on the counter to dry. He rubbed a towel quickly over his hands before setting about preparing the tea pot.

“I know I’m old-fashioned,” he said uncomfortably as he felt Mrs. Cole’s curious and judging eyes on him, “but eventually you stop trying to keep up with every new convenience they invent. The beginning of the technology age nearly killed me…” He turned his head to offer a small smile—the result of an unfamiliar urge to appear friendly—which she returned equally small.

“You seem to have healed well,” she commented. The ‘minor explosion’ of the Doctor’s visit the previous week had been a bit literal. Mrs. Cole and William had come across Angel after he’d had his leg broken and been tossed off an overhead pedestrian walkway. Honestly, Angel was amazed that hadn’t scared her off for good.

“I have a high pain tolerance,” Angel told her. “The leg still looks pretty bad, but I can walk on it now.”

“Can I see?” William asked, wide eyes tracking down to Angel’s shins. Angel bent and lifted up the left leg of his trousers, revealing a long, knotted purple scar running across both the front and back of his shins. Damn giant pincers. The scar would heal eventually, for the most part, especially with the salve he was using, but it had hurt. A lot.

“Wooooowwww…” William murmured delightedly.

“I assume the situation is taken care of?” Mrs. Cole asked, looking up at Angel.

“Yeah,” Angel told her, dropping the trouser leg. “Better than I thought, actually. The demon is home. And getting help.” It had actually been an alien, and when Angel said ‘home,’ he meant ‘planet,’ but he didn’t want to get into the explanation of it all.

“Oh,” Mrs. Cole sounded just as surprised as Angel had felt when he’d had the time to sit back about think about what had happened. “That’s...wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Angel nodded. “I guess it is.” Silence fell and he quickly turned back to preparing the teapot for something to do.

“Well,” Mrs. Cole said, standing, “I guess I’ll get the milk, shall I?” She reached for the door of the fridge and pulled, only to have it yanked out of her grasp as it flew shut.

“William!” she admonished.

“Trust me, Mum, you  _ don’t _ want to look in there,” William said wisely. “ _ I’ll _ get the milk. You can get the sugar.” He pointed to the cupboard across the way.

Angel had to turn so they would not see his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events mentioned in this last scene are from a Doctor Who/Angel crossover story, which is part of a series I'm co-authoring called "Blood and Time." If you're interested in reading that piece, it's called "War Stories" and can be found with my other works.


	6. Chapter 6

Looking back, Angel could not remember the exact moment when he starting looking forward to the visits from the two cheerful, inquisitive, attentive boys. They came as often as they could, usually together. He didn't know when he stopped minding the interruptions in his quiet, daily routine to make a light snack for the boys and recount one of his heroic adventures to such a captive audience.

Life had fallen into a new pattern. Before Angel realized what was happening, he was actually planning his daily life to include William and Calder; opting to leave the flat after their bedtime rather than after sunset, buying real food again, and making sure all weapons and magical objects were always stowed well out of sight. In fact, were it not for the complete disruption in routine a few months after William was once again allowed to visit Angel, Angel would not have noticed the routine at all. That was when William and Calder stopped coming altogether.

It had been over a week and Angel hadn't heard anything from either boy. At Angel's age, the days tended to run into each other, so he checked the expiration date on his milk. It confirmed what seemed to him to be very odd: that his only visitor in the past eight days was a tall, rosy-colored demon wondering if Angel had heard anything about a Lur'ite that was rumored to have recently made itself a very bloody den on the north side of the city (yes, he had, and yes, there was, and most Lur'ites are allergic to copper—you can get a copper dagger at this address…).

It puzzled Angel that William had not even attempted to contact him in eight days when he averaged three visits a week, but he assumed there was a good reason for it, and William would have told him if it was important to know.

Calder came several days later and was able to answer Angel's questions.

"Hi," Calder said a bit glumly as he walked in.

"Hi. I've been wondering where you two were."

Calder nodded. "I've sort of been busy. And Will, well… He doesn't come out of his room much anymore."

"Why?"

Calder took a breath and said, "Because last Monday his parents told him they're getting a divorce. His dad even moved out."

Angel nodded thoughtfully. That explained a lot.

"He's pretty upset," Calder continued. "I only saw him once, outside of school, and he was trying not to cry. It was weird."

"Well," Angel said, "it'll take some time." Silence fell. Angel was about to ask if Calder wanted something to eat or drink when Calder spoke again,

"I think… I think he'd like to see you."

Angel raised his eyebrows.

"Or…it might be good for him."

"Why?"

"He won't talk to me… I think he's afraid to cry in front of me. And I heard Mrs. Cole talking to my mum last night and she said William won't talk to her or his dad, either."

"And you think he'll talk to me?"

"Well sure. You're a grownup, but you're not his parents, so…"

"And you think I could make him feel better?"

Calder shrugged. "I don't know. But I still think he'd like to see you." Then he added, more quietly, "And if it gets me my friend back…."

Angel considered Calder for a moment.

"Who's he living with?"

"Mrs. Cole. Mr. Cole's living on the other side of town now, so he visits there sometimes. But he's usually in his room at- at his mum's place. Their normal house." Calder was evidently struggling with the idea of split parents, as well. "So are you going to see him?"

Angel did not respond immediately. "I may stop in later this week to see how he's doing."

That seemed to satisfy Calder because he nodded and relaxed a bit. "

So do you want something to eat?" Angel asked.

Calder shook his head. "I should go, actually, I'm supposed to be getting a loaf of bread for my mum. I'll see you later." He turned and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

* * *

Angel decided to pay a visit to William the next night. He had no idea what he was going to say, and he wasn't even sure why he was going. Perhaps it was something that Calder said compelled him to go, or perhaps it was something else altogether. Either way, Angel found himself knocking on the Coles' door the following night. Mrs. Cole seemed surprised to find Angel on the other side of door as she opened it.

"Angel," her tone was curious.

"Hi," Angel said uncertainly. He hesitated; mothers were terrifying creatures, and this one had proved to be no exception. He had no idea of what she thought of his appearance at her door (especially because he didn't even really know what he was doing there himself), and that made it all the harder to choose the right words. Finally, he just spoke.

"Calder came to see me yesterday." Angel swallowed. "He told me what's been going on; that William's sort of gone into seclusion. I came to see him."

Mrs. Cole scrutinized him. "You think you can help?"

Angel shrugged. "I know a little about solitary brooding. And I was concerned when he stopped coming." He paused. "Can I come in?"

"Yes, I suppose so," she replied, moving aside. "Do you need an invitation each time?"

"No," Angel said, stepping through the doorway. "It's just polite to ask."

"Well," she said, taking a breath and closing the door behind him, "you know the way. I would take you there myself, but I'm not really on William's good side at the moment."

Angel nodded and made his own way down the hall. In front of William's door, he knocked gently. To any other person, inside it was completely silent. Angel, however, could hear William's breathing somewhere in the vicinity of his bed. Angel knocked again, and then entered.

"William?" he asked. William was indeed sitting on his bed, his legs straight out and his arms crossed. He, too, was surprised to see Angel.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Angel shrugged, closing the door behind him.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. It's been a while." He glanced around. "Nice room."

William looked around, too. "I guess," he replied.

"You have a lot more toys than I ever did." Angel circled the room, glancing at William's various possessions.

"What did you have?"

Angel thought a moment. "A wood sword, a hoop… We made our own toys a lot. Leaves and sticks for boats; stuff like that."

Silence fell; William seemed to be trying to imagine a boy Angel playing with his friends. Having made a full circle and ending up in front of William, Angel asked, "Can I sit down?"

William nodded.

Angel pulled up William's desk chair and sat down comfortably in front of the boy. "So you haven't stopped by in a while," he said. William looked away. "Why?"

William shifted. "Calder probably told you."

"I'd like to hear it from you."

William bit his lip and let his eyes sweep the floor. Angel waited. William sighed.

"My parents are getting a divorce. Dad moved out last week. He doesn't want to live with us anymore." He kicked his feet gently to relieve tension. Angel did not respond, which seemed to agitate William somewhat.

"Well?" William said after a moment.

"What?"

"You're not going to tell me that it's just my mum he doesn't want to live with, and not both of us?"

"Apparently you already know that. Why tell you something you already know?"

William did not seem to know how to respond, so he continued bouncing his feet up and down off the edge of the bed. Angel spoke after a moment,

"So does it help?"

"What?"

"Sitting here alone. Not talking to anyone."

William shrugged.

"Then why do it?"

William shrugged again. Angel waited to see if he would speak anyway, but he didn't. "What do you do to pass the time?"

"Nothing."

"That sounds boring."

"I guess." William paused. "I think a lot. I think about all the ways they could have stayed together and how we'd be a normal family again. I think about what could happen now to make things better." A tear spilled over William's cheek and he took a shaky breath. "I just want things to be like they were."

Angel waited an extra moment. "Can I be honest with you?"

William sniffed gently. "Yeah."

"Things are never going to be like they were."

William stared at Angel, somewhat shocked.

"Things are what they are and they're always changing. Nothing stays the same forever. And that's a good thing. Life would be boring if it stayed the same—I would know." Angel leaned forward. "Sitting in here all alone, William, is fine for a while. It gives you time to process things. But dwelling in the past and false presents? It never leads to anything good. Some day you're going to have to come out and be with people again. You'll have to accept the fact that your life is different now and you'll learn how to adjust. It seems hard now, but it's actually not as hard as you think."

William did not respond as he soaked in Angel's words.

"Well," Angel said, standing up, "I need to go. Will you stop by sometime?"

After a moment, William slowly nodded.

"Good." Angel carefully replaced the chair before he left to allow Mrs. Cole enough time to hurry off to the living room and take up the pretense that she had been reading the whole time. He nodded once to her on his way out.


	7. Chapter 7

The weeks turned into months and the months turned into years. The days came when the boys would come for advice or just to talk about their day or adventures with friends as often as asking for stories. They usually came together, and while William would sometimes show up alone, Calder rarely visited without William. It surprised Angel, therefore, when he answered the knock at his door one afternoon in mid-August a few years later to find only Calder standing there.

"Where's William?" Angel asked as Calder stepped in. Calder shrugged.

"I think he's working on his science project with Colin. And actually, I don't have much time today either 'cause I have a project, too. I was just wondering… Well…I was wondering why-" Calder tried again, "I mean, we're older now, so…"

Angel noticed that Calder was looking anywhere but him.

"What do you want, Calder?" Angel asked.

Calder took a determined breath. "I want to fight vampires with you."

A corner of Angel's mouth twitched in amusement. "You think you're ready?"

"I know I am! I'm almost 13! You've told me story after story about how you've killed vampires and demons. I want to stop hearing about it and actually do it! I want to do some good in the world." Anyone else might have missed Calder's slight hesitation before his last sentence. Angel did not miss it. Nor did he miss the fact that Calder's gaze was suspiciously downward and his pulse had quickened.

"Hm. Convincing arguments." Angel put his hand to his chin, feigning careful consideration.

"Except the one where you won't be 13 for at least six months. And the one where you don't really care about doing some good in the world."

Calder head snapped up. "Yes I do!"

"Maybe so. But that's not why you want to fight." Angel dug his hands into his pockets, unconsciously assuming his Unmovable Stance. "If you deliberately look for excitement you will find it. But you will also probably get yourself killed."

"Which is why you can teach me how to fight! If I can defend myself-"

"-you'll think it's fun to go looking creatures to defend yourself from. I'm counting on the fact that you're not stupid enough to look for trouble you can't beat to keep you safe."

"You can keep me safe."

Angel shook his head. Calder crossed his arms in disappointment. "Will you ever teach me?"

"Maybe. It depends. There are other things you need to learn first."

"Like what?"

Angel remained silent in a way the Calder was used to; a way that meant that Angel was not going to say anymore on the subject.

Calder nodded in defeat. "Well," he said, "I gotta go…"

"Good luck on your project."

Calder gave the look that said, "Mm hm. Thanks…" and went home.

* * *

Calder gradually became scarcer after that, though Angel did not believe it was because he refused to teach the boy how to fight. Angel had noticed that Calder had become increasingly distant and disinterested over the past several weeks and he saw it only an indicator that Calder was growing apart from him—falling out of love with the idea of having Angel for a friend. It did not surprise Angel, and it only saddened him somewhat that the visits from the two excited, amusingly child-like boys seemed to be coming to an end, though he had known it must eventually.

In the meantime, William still showed up regularly, sometimes bringing a snack to eat (which Angel was fairly certain was Mrs. Cole's idea, so Angel wouldn't have to continually buy food for the boys), sometimes with Calder and sometimes not, sometimes with homework to do, and he would still absorb every word Angel said to him.

Calder's increased absence only began to concern Angel when William started to become quiet and more distant, as well. William never let on that he and Calder were not still best friends; when Calder did come over with William they were as jovial as ever with each other and William would occasionally bring stories of fun things he and Calder had done together over the past few days. However, based on William's somewhat melancholy moods and his slight reactions when Angel mentioned Calder's name, Angel eventually began to suspect that he was not the only one Calder was growing apart from.

Angel decided, as usual, to let William to be the one to bring it up if he wanted to talk about it, so he kept off the subject for a few weeks. One day, however, William came in a too obviously upset mood for Angel to pretend it did not exist.

"Hey," he said as William walked in, eyes on the floor, and sopping wet from the downpour of sleet outside. Angel sighed as he watched the puddle on his wood floor swell. "You know, I'm sure I've told you about the wonders of umbrellas before. It's not a myth: they work great and street vendors sell them on every corner."

Angel fetched a few towels: one for William, and one for the floor. Then Angel shooed him into the kitchen and prepared some milk for hot chocolate. William sat in silence at the table the whole time, just staring at the floor. It was this point when Angel became concerned: he couldn't remember a time William hadn't at least said hi to him, save for the few times he'd burst in sobbing too much to really say anything.

"What's wrong?" Angel asked, stirring the milk to keep it from burning. William shrugged. Angel let silence take the room. If William wanted to say something, he usually said it.

But he didn't say anything. The silence dragged on. Angel wondered if this was one of those pre-adolescent things where they want to say something, but don't want to be open to keep up the pretense that whatever it is, they can handle it.

"You sure?" Angel asked. William shifted. Angel turned back toward the milk, which was sufficiently hot, and busied himself with adding and mixing the chocolate, giving William time to decide if he wanted to say something. The silence continued all throughout Angel's preparation, after Angel set it on the table, and William had started to drink.

Finally, Angel spoke again. "You know, this could be a really boring visit if one of us doesn't say something."

William's eyes stayed on his mug.

Careful not to show his frustration, Angel said, "Alright, then. I'm not going to sit around in here doing nothing. I'll be reading if you need me." And he stood up and left the kitchen.

Scanning through the titles on one of his bookshelves, he picked out a volume to read and sat down. Several minutes later, William appeared at the kitchen door, his arms wrapped around himself. Angel did not look up. William hovered there a moment before speaking.

"I don't know if Calder's my friend anymore."

Angel closed his book and set it aside. He looked into William's eyes, inviting him to continue. William looked away and leaned protectively into the doorframe, but continued speaking.

"He's always with other kids at recess; they stand around and talk on the edge of the playground. He's never home anymore; he's always off with other friends who aren't my friends. He's too busy to come here with me. And…" William bit his lip and took a steadying breath, "…and he's not coming to my birthday party." William seemed to be trying not to cry. Angel was wondering how to best comfort a statement like that when William continued, "H-he bought me a present, but he said he was too busy to come to the party… We used to make sure to schedule our birthday parties on days the other one was free." Silence fell again while William's eyes shifted to Angel, around the room, and back to Angel.

Angel knew that it was his turn to speak. He glanced down at his fidgety hands as if they would spell out the words he needed. "I don't know if there's anything I can say to make you feel better, William." He paused. "Something I've learned from living so long is that people come and go through your life. Not even the immortal ones stay forever."

William nodded slightly. In retrospect, Angel thought he could have done better than that, so he added, "I'm sorry. But there will be others."

"But if they're going to leave, too, what's the point?"

Yup, Angel definitely could have done better. Even though he wasn't the best role model for this, having pushed away human contact after all  _his_  friends died and lived in relative seclusion until William came along, he felt that his 450+ years of wisdom were spectacularly failing to give him the words he needed.

"I didn't mean that everyone leaves you; I just meant that it's a passing thing, a cycle. Like life and death."

"But you're an immortal. Life and death don't mean much to you. It means a lot to the rest of us."

The statement temporarily silenced Angel. When had William's observations matured so much?

"Well…" Angel said, "I guess that's true, in a sense. Okay, bad example. I just meant…" Angel faltered. He didn't really want to say what he was thinking: that William would get over the loss and life would move on. He found it rather insensitive and probably not what William needed to hear.

"Have you ever lost any friends Angel?"

Angel glanced up. William was looking at him. "Yes."

"How?"

Angel sighed to himself. Which one to tell about? Images of all the people he'd ever loved or considered friends in his life circled through his mind, their respective stories coming in associated emotions. He looked back at William to stop the flow.

"They died."

"I mean before that."

Angel looked at him quizzically.

"Have any of them ever left you…and…and did they ever come back?"

Oh. Now Angel saw what he was getting at. "It might be a phase that Calder's going through," he confirmed. "Adolescence is confusing and scary and he might be dealing with it the wrong way. There's a chance he might come back to you. But people do grow apart." There was a pause. "Have you talked with him about this?"

William shook his head.

"You might want to. Just to find out."

"I think things are pretty clear…"

Angel looked down at his hands, then back up. "Even so."

William gave a small nod and quiet settled over the room again. The silence ensued for a few more minutes before William roused himself out of his thoughts, said he should be getting home for dinner, gathered his things, and opened the door to leave.

Angel stood at the door in farewell, holding it for William to walk through. William paused in the doorway. Without turning around he said quietly, "Thank you for being my friend, Angel." It was not a child's thank you.

"You're welcome." Angel replied.

* * *

That was about the time that Calder stopped coming altogether. William had taken up Angel's suggestion and tried to talk to Calder, and though Calder never actually said the words "we're not friends," the implications were clear enough to where, when the conversation was relayed to Angel, he privately agreed that Calder's circle of friends had changed entirely.

He did what he could to console William, though consolation was never a strong suit of Angel's. Angel distracted the boy with the story about the time he fought the dragon—one of William's favorites—and it seemed to help. Several weeks later William admitted that he wasn't sure he really wanted to be friends with Calder the way he was now, anyway. Angel heard little mention of him after that and life resumed to relative normalcy.

William came regularly, and Angel had a steady trickle of people knocking on his door wanting information or advice or connections. Occasionally, these two things would happen at the same time and Angel would send William off to the kitchen to do homework while Angel discussed magical and demonic options with his inquirers.

One such time in mid-December, Angel sent William to the kitchen when an elderly man came to the door with a request. The man wanted a certain elixir, but could no longer measure and mix accurately due to his Parkinson's, so he asked Angel to prepare it for him. Angel agreed and promised to have it ready for the following evening. Angel showed the man out, then looked toward the kitchen, pensive.

He retreated to the library and closed the door behind him. Sitting down as he tapped the broad gold ring on his left middle finger to wake the holographic projection of his Palm, he called the Cole flat with no small amount of apprehension.

A few minutes later he emerged and made his way to the kitchen, where he was met with a surprising technological sight: there was a holographic screen about the size of a small baking sheet hovering over Angel's kitchen table, and William was typing something on it. Holograms were not yet solid, so his fingers swirled through the light particles and somehow, the device knew just what he was trying to type. It still amazed Angel that he could do the same thing with one or two fingers on his Palm projected from his ring. Sometimes, Angel thought that technology was more magic than magic.

"Hey," Angel said when he was over his surprise.

"Hi," William replied without looking up. "I'm almost done."

Angel sat down and let William finish writing his last few sentences. Angel noticed the small tablet of William's Palm on the kitchen table underneath the hologram, so at least he knew where the projection came from, now. He'd had no idea the devices themselves could project holograms up into the air; it was even set at an ergonomic angle. Angel wondered if his could do that, too - it would be a much more convenient way to read the news in the morning.

William ended his paragraph, flicked his wrist at the Palm like dismissing a servant - projection flitting out after it displayed a brief  _Well Done!_  - and he slipped it into his bag.

"Can mine do that, too?" Angel asked.

"Do what?"

Angel made a gesture to show to the screen coming up out of the device, but without a Palm there anymore he quickly realized that he might be miming an explosion or standing up or perhaps a tree. Angel had always been bad at charades. "Project," he added, hopefully helpfully.

"Oh," William nodded. "Yeah, it should. Let me see."

Angel fished the device out of his back pocket and gave it to William, who set it on the table between them and reminded Angel that he had to turn it on. Angel touched the fingerprint sensor and the default welcome screen came on.

"You know you can change this…" William said.

Angel shrugged, hardly seeing the point.

William made a gesture over the screen with his right hand like gathering a string from the device and pulling it up. Angel's default welcome screen appeared in front of them in full baking-sheet-size glory.

"Oh my god," Angel said softly. He never got used to his technological world suddenly expanding.

William giggled.

"And I just…" Angel made the same dismissive flick William had done earlier and the projection disappeared. "Oh my god," he said again.

William laughed this time.

Angel tried the motion on his own, pulling the screen out and sending it away again. And then again for good measure. "I'll be damned," he muttered like the old man he was.

"For our next lesson I'll show you how to change your background," William told him.

Angel waved dismissively, picking up the Palm again to put in his pocket. "I know how to do that, I just don't bother," he told him.

William rolled his eyes lightly like Angel was a lost cause and leaned back in his chair. "So, everything good with that guy who came to see you? What'd he want?"

Oh, right. Angel had nearly forgotten. "An elixir," he replied. "He can't make it himself because of Parkinson's; wants me to do it for him." Angel paused, watching William. "I need some things from Ferguson's. What do you think about coming with me and then I'll take you home?"

William lit up with excitement. "Really? I can go with you?" Angel nodded, but William's face fell slightly. "But my mum-"

"-Agrees that something like this is pretty harmless." Angel decided not to add the thought that both he and Mrs. Cole shared: that magic, like alcohol, is best introduced under supervision. Though William never pressed the matter, it was obvious he was itching to dabble, and if it was going to happen, it should happen while Angel still held absolute authority.

Angel looked out the window. It was still late afternoon, but the sun had almost set. "Come on," Angel said. "Get your stuff together."

William followed Angel eagerly out of the kitchen, throwing on his jacket and slinging his bag over his shoulder as he went.

"I thought you said Ferguson's was a bad place to go for things."

"It's not great if you want accurate information," Angel agreed, putting on his own coat, "but I only need a few ingredients. Plus, it's really hard to mess up powdered birch bark…"

* * *

William gawked at the bell above the door as he followed Angel into the magic shop. An assortment of colors and smells bombarded his senses and he struggled to decide which way to look first. An ancient-looking Asian man in faded, worn, and stained military attire slept soundly in the corner behind the counter to William's right; his arms crossed and face occasionally twitching from dreams. A door opened at the far end of the shop and a somewhat-balding Asian man bounced through, beaming, his arms open wide.

"Welcome, wel- Oh." He faltered and his smile disappeared. His arms fell to his sides and he cleared his throat. "'Evening, Angel."

"No need to be so disappointed." Angel approached the man, who backed up a step.

"Not disappointed. I save my big welcomes for new customers; particularly the Christmas-shopping crowd. How can I help you?"

"Just picking up a few things."

"You know where they are." The man gestured to the shelves lining the walls. "And the lad?" But Angel was already making his way to the back of the shop, William close behind. He could hear the clerk mutter something in Korean as they disappeared down the aisle.

"Is he afraid of you?" William asked, wondering at the body language.

"A little."

"Why?"

Angel shrugged. "I intimidate some people. Can't imagine why, though." He gave William a half-smile and William grinned. He turned his attention to the shelves, staring at the strange things they passed. He occasionally asked what some things were used for and Angel gave short, direct answers as he picked out the things he needed. Once, William pointed to a tiny red ruby on a higher shelf and asked what a miniscule thing like that was used for. Angel's face darkened and he replied,

"Nothing you need to know about," and continued on. William stared a bit longer as it glittered happily at him.

It didn't take Angel long to find what he needed. Angel paid while William glanced through the books, then called William when he was ready to go. William emerged from the stacks as the back room door closed behind the clerk.

As they passed the old sleeping man in the corner on the way to the door, Angel said something casually to him in Korean that, based on the intonation, sounded like a question. William thought it was an odd thing to do, seeing as the man was sleeping, but to his surprise the man woke up with a start. Raising his fist in the air, the man shouted something fervently in response to the question, gave a haughty grunt, then replaced his arm across his chest and fell asleep again.

As the door closed behind them William turned to Angel.

"Does he do that a lot?"

"Every time."

William grinned. "You have  _got_  to teach me that!"


	8. Chapter 8

"Angel, what can you tell me about girlfriends?"

Angel dropped the tea kettle he was placing on the burner. It banged loudly on the metal grill and a few droplets of water sloshed out of the spout and onto the flames.

"Girlfriends?" Angel asked. Twelve years old and he's asking about girlfriends? Wasn't it too early for that? Angel had figured he'd have another year or two, at least.

"Mm-hm."

Angel rubbed the back of his head. "Uhh… Like what?"

William shrugged. "I don't know. I think I have one, but I'm not sure. I thought you could tell me."

Angel's mind spun at the oddness of the statement. He spoke out loud, trying to make sense of it. "You think you have a girlfriend, and you want  _me_ to tell you if you do…?"

"Yeah, well, you've probably had lots of girlfriends, right? So you know how to tell if a girl thinks you're her boyfriend or not. Yesterday Jamina said I was sweet for helping her with our history homework—but really, I was telling her the story you told about the demon you fought during the first French Revolution, but without the demon part, of course—and today she hugged me.  _And_ ," Angel was doing his best to keep up, "last week she told me she liked my mahogany shoes."

"Mahogany shoes?"

"Well, they're not  _wood_  shoes, of course, but Angel, that's not the point."

"Oh." Angel rubbed the back of his head again. "Er. What's the point? Exactly?"

"Is she my girlfriend? Am I expected to do things for her now, like buy her stuff?"

It took Angel an extra moment to digest the situation. "Er… I don't know." Angel gestured feebly. "Have you talked about it?"

"I can't talk to her! If I ask and we are, she'll be hurt I had to ask, and if we're not, she'll laugh at me for being so dumb."

Angel smiled with one corner of his mouth. "You're more perceptive than I ever was."

"No, I just watched Luke go through the same thing last month with another girl."

Angel gave a nod that said,  _Oh_.

"And…" William began, but hesitated. He glanced at the floor and kicked his feet under the table.

"And?" Angel prompted.

William's eyes shifted around, then met Angel's. He leaned forward. "Promise you won't tell anyone if I tell you?  _No one_?"

Angel could think of very few people he would be able to tell the secret to. Nevertheless, he promised. William bit his lips together before quietly saying, "Jamina kissed me today."

Angel smiled slightly.

William's stared at Angel in tense expectation. "Well?" he asked, "Is she my girlfriend? Don't you only kiss someone you're in a relationship with?"

"Well," Angel started, "Not necessarily. Sometimes kissing is what starts a relationship."

William frowned in thought. "So our relationship started today?"

"Well, it doesn't  _always_  start the relationship."

"Then how do you know?"

Angel sighed and rubbed his head again, at a loss for an answer.

"How did you know with your first girlfriend?"

Angel's hand froze in his hair.

"Angel?" William pushed after several moments of silence.

"Uh…what?" Angel lowered his hand.

"Your first girlfriend. How did you know?"

The water began to boil and Angel hastened to tend to it. Frustrated, William once again prompted, more forcefully this time, " _Angel_?"

Angel took a breath. "Truthfully, William, I don't know who my first girlfriend was."

"You don't know? Why?"

"Sugar? Milk?"

"Both, please. Angel, how can you not know who your first girlfriend was?"

"Well,  _you_ don't know, do you? Get the sugar, will you?"

William stood up to get the sugar, but kept talking. "I don't know  _now_ , but it's just happening to me. You-"

"William," Angel interrupted, turning away from the tea, "I'm really not the best person to ask. My most normal relationships were with a vampire, a Slayer, and a werewolf," then Angel added, "and almost a Seer." William's eyes widened in surprise. "Trust me, I'm not the person to go to with normal, healthy, teenage relationship problems."

"But…" William sat back down at the table with the sugar. "Who else do I go to? None of my other friends have ever had a girlfriend. You know more than anyone else I know, even if your girlfriends were weird, and you won't laugh at me if I ask something dumb, or sit me down for an awkward talk like my mom did-like we don't already have a sex ed class at school... And also, no one else would be honest with me, like you." William paused. "So can you help me?"

Angel let William's words settle a minute, a little flattered in spite of himself. He sat down in front of William and took a breath.

"William, I really don't know if she's your girlfriend. I have no idea how 12-year-old girls' minds work. All I can suggest is that you ask her. Or you could wait and see what happens, but that can backfire."

William nodded thoughtfully.

"If it helps," Angel continued, "you could subtly add that you're trying to be open and honest about the situation, like you're supposed to do in real, adult relationships."

William smiled and nodded again. "Yeah, okay, I can do that."

"So…that helped?"

"Yup, that helped. Thanks." William stood up to bring the tea to the table. "Now, I need more information on the French Revolution…"

* * *

A few more months passed by. Angel occasionally included William on more trips to Ferguson's or let him watch on the unusual occurrence that Angel had to mix something up, but that was as far into magic as he took him. Small steps.

The winter was cold as ever. William's afternoons were often spent in snowball fights in any one of the city's numerous parks, so his visits had temporarily decreased. Angel was quite content to sit inside and read on these afternoons, and enjoyed a lull in demonic activity, as it was most demons' instinct to nest in the cold weather. He enjoyed not needing to go out and assess the level of chaos in his city; the downside to being  _able_ to control the chaos meant that he actually  _needed_ to control it constantly. Sometimes that meant physically destroying the chaos-makers, but more often it meant reminding them that he could. It was a less violent approach that not only suited his quieter lifestyle, but that an old friend of Angel's would have approved of, and perhaps hugged him for. That friend wasn't around much anymore, but Angel still felt a small amount of pride in how he handled the demon population of Galway. A little bit monster, a little bit human.

And the human part was certainly getting its exercise lately. Many of William's visits during those months consisted of William happily bemoaning the fact that having a girlfriend was more work than it was worth, throwing Angel into the modern world of adolescent relationships. Angel found himself at a loss for advice. Not having been in any kind of romantic relationship for 200 years, the only related advice he felt qualified to give was sexual, and it was still far too early for that (although it occurred to Angel that those days  _would_  be coming, and much faster than he expected. He'd experienced a momentary panic attack at that realization).

Relationship advice didn't seem to be quite what William needed, though. Questions would pop up in his rants, but he would move on to a different point in the same breath, seemingly content for the questions to remain rhetorical as long as he got to spill every new thing on his mind. So as long as Angel didn't  _have_  to talk, he was content to listen.

Apparently, Jamina like her men chivalrous. She had William carrying her books, holding her hand as she flounced off stairs or off the curb, steering her around ice patches (thus forcing William to walk on them instead), and periodically surprising her with flowers ("Do you know how expensive it is to buy fresh flowers in the dead of winter?!"). Angel listened with amusement, occasionally adding his two cents, but for the most part letting William rant (with some amount of pride) about this new part of his life.

Winter turned into early spring. As the snow melted and refroze and melted again, the ground turned to icy mush and the weather cold and rainy. William came more often again, seeking warmth and dryness. March came with a few sparse grass shoots and the distinct scent of stirring plant life, and Angel found himself involved in more battles of authority with creatures of the night on his various errands and walks around town. He saved a girl.

The nature of William's visits had gradually shifted with the season, as well. Now he sometimes came simply to enjoy Angel's company rather than ask for stories or to seek an attentive ear. In addition to their normal routine of conversation over tea, sometimes Angel would find a book for him to read and they'd spend the afternoon in companionable silence.

This is what they were doing one afternoon when William surprised Angel by mentioning Calder, of whom Angel had heard nothing for months. Angel was comfortable sitting low in his armchair, feet propped up on the apothecary table, and William stretched across the couch.

Without introduction to the topic, William laid his book across his chest and said, "It's Calder's birthday tomorrow. His 13th."

Angel looked up and considered the statement. "How does that make you feel?"

William shrugged. "I don't know. It just… _is_ …I guess."

Angel nodded. He knew the feeling. "Do you ever talk to him?"

William shook his head.

"Only when we have to, in school. He still hangs out with his other friends. They're all older. Some…" He hesitated. "Some of them smoke."

"Does Calder?"

"Not that I've seen. But I wouldn't know anymore."

Angel didn't respond. William sighed quietly and returned to his book.

* * *

Perhaps it was because William had reminded Angel of Calder's birthday that Angel actually saw Calder the next night. Related events, Angel noticed, tended to come in clumps, so it shouldn't have surprised him to see Calder and several of his friends emerging from a high-end magic shop several blocks on the other side of Ferguson's.

Angel came to this place when he needed something of quality; tonight it was an old, rare demonology book the owner had found for him. Angel had been trying for decades to get even a copy, as many of the creatures described in it were too rare (and too dark) to be mentioned in most encyclopedias, and tonight he was about to get one of the originals. Wesley would have been downright giddy.

The book was temporarily pushed from Angel's mind, however, when he saw the group of six or seven teenagers exiting the shop. Calder had grown several inches since Angel had last seen him. His loud energy was still there, though expressed in more aggressive terms, such as punching his friends in the arm (which the whole group seemed apt to do). Deciding that the book could wait a little longer, Angel followed the group; partly out of curiosity about the people Calder had left William for, and partly to see what they were doing with whatever they had bought in the magic shop. Teens and magic rarely produced anything good.

As the gang led Angel to wherever they were going, which evidently was just across the street in Merlin Park Woods (Angel didn't even have to try to hide in the darkness of the trees), he observed the dynamics of the group. The oldest members, who were indeed smoking, were 16 or 17. One of them walked with an air of invincibility in the middle of the whole group. He was tall, and had long brown hair and an arrogant saunter. Calder's gaze when he looked at this one betrayed admiration. The leader, without a doubt.

The rest of the group seemed to all be older than Calder, just as William had said. It made sense, Angel thought, since it appeared that Calder was the complete bottom of the dominance chain. He was carrying the two bags from the shop and he took the constant teasing from the others in stride. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the teasing; like it was a test he knew he could pass.

The walk through the woods was short. The trails they took led them straight to where Angel's suspicions had already placed their destination: Merlin Castle. A tourist attraction now, the small, ancient castle, consisting of the original stone tower with a reconstructed house-like attachment that was half as tall as the tower itself had been preserved for people to admire, and Angel couldn't believe there wasn't some form of security system monitoring the inside. Yet the boys beelined for it, quieting down as they snuck across the open field toward the castle.

The castle was situated at the very edge of the woods; just a thin line of trees delineating between park and city. The boys stayed on the forest side of the castle, where the front entrance was, out of the sight of the city and its lights. Angel, however, crept around the line of trees toward the city so that he was closer to see and listen. The boys now in profile, Angel leaned back against a tree to watch.

They were a few hundred feet away and it was a clear night, meaning that the city lights couldn't reflect off the clouds, so it was hard even for Angel to tell what was going on. They were hovering around the entrance, two or three of them actually doing something while the others loitered. Then there was a celebratory commotion that was quickly quieted by the leaders, and one by one, they filed into the main entrance, as if neither lock nor alarm secured the place.

Very odd and probably not good.

The leader stopped one of the kids, whom Angel had decided to be next lowest in the hierarchy, from entering to stay behind as guard before slipping in himself and closing the door.

Angel waited and watched in case he heard deathly screams from a mis-cast spell, wondering if he should feel obligated to go and interrupt whatever they were doing. Angel generally made it a point not to involve himself in human affairs, but if they were summoning something, Angel's life would be a lot easier if he stopped it now.

Not that he didn't harbor concern for the kids' safety, too-especially Calder's-but he wasn't in the habit of doling out consequences for stupid actions; not anymore. There also wasn't anything particularly potent about this time or place, magically speaking. It wasn't a full moon or a new moon, and though the castle, he supposed, had magnificent atmosphere, nothing interesting or unholy had ever happened there, to Angel's knowledge. When Angel was a kid, Francis Blake and his family had lived there, and they had been as boring and pious as they came. Whatever these kids were attempting would have mediocre effect, and the very fact that they didn't even know to go down to the ruins in Roscam to enhance their magic meant that they were so amateur, there was a good chance that whatever they were doing would not work, anyway.

So Angel just watched to see what would happen, noticing in a detached kind of way just how chilly the March night air was, especially in the light breeze. He didn't mind standing in the darkness, though it was obvious the guard did, who seemed extremely bored and put out that he couldn't join in the fun.

In time, noises from inside roused the kid and he quickly stood up from his sitting position against the door, putting on all pretenses that he'd been standing faithfully there the whole time. When Calder came out, the guard thumped him on the back in what seemed to be congratulations, adding to the rain of hands over Calder as the others poured out behind him.

 _Ah_ , Angel realized. They must have just initiated him.

Two of the figures hovered at the door again, probably re-engaging the security system, before joining the crowd as they moved around the other side of the castle toward the city. Angel matched their progress.

The kids were laughing and joking, drunk on their own sense of invincibility, and it wasn't until they reached the other side of the line of trees bordering the city that anyone said anything of interest.

"So, Pan," the leader said, "Friday night, right? You won't have to guard now..." He winked and clapped Calder's shoulder. Calder grinned.

"Yeah, right. Friday night."

"Oh, here." The leader pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Calder. "For being a good sport. Pontus here," he playfully punched the guard on the shoulder, "screamed like a little girl. Didn't you?"

He chuckled at his friend's scowl and turned back to Calder, tossing him a lighter. "You can light it yourself right? See you, then."

The rest of the gang murmured their various farewells and thudded and punched Calder again appreciatively. Then the boys split off on their different paths toward home. Angel followed Calder as he turned and headed back toward across the field again a narrow section of woods that would be a shortcut, presumably, to the nearest red line stop that would take him to the other side of Old Galway.

Once at the edge of the woods and well out of sight and hearing of the others, Calder stopped and leaned against a tree to light his cigarette. It was obviously his first.

Angel approached Calder out of the shadow of the trees. "Nice friends you have."

Calder jumped, dropping his lighter as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. Angel smelled a shock of adrenaline rush through him. When Calder saw who it was, he breathed a sigh of relief. Angel continued, "They seem to like you a lot. I'm confused, though: why do they call you 'Pan'?"

"It's a code name." Calder said, bending to pick up the lighter and knocking the dirt off of it. "So no one knows who we are. We're all named after the Greek gods." He put the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Do you get to choose?"

"No, Zeus does," he said, concentrating on getting the cigarette lit.

Angel chuckled. "Of course… You do know Pan was the god of sheep, right?"

Calder coughed and yanked the cigarette out of his mouth again. He looked up incredulously at Angel.

"Sheep?!"

"Well, flocks of sheep. And shepherds. And he was half-goat."

Calder swore bitterly under his breath. Angel pretended not to notice the sideways glance from him, looking for a startled reaction at how foul Calder's mouth had become.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Angel said. "I doubt the others know, either." Angel started walking down the path and Calder fell into step with him, the cigarette back in his mouth and once again trying to light it.

"How 'ong ha' 'oo ven fowowin' 'e?" Calder asked, causing the cigarette to bounce in and out of the flame as he talked.

"Since the magic shop." Sometimes Angel swore he could actually hear the heart plunge into the stomach.

"De mashek sho'?"

"I was going there myself, but I saw you coming out with your friends and I thought, 'gosh. It's just been so long since I've seen Calder. I wonder what he's up to these days?'"

Calder pulled the cigarrete out of his mouth again so he could talk. "So you stalked me?"

"Well, if you want to call it that..."

Calder glared at Angel and then looked at his cigarette in equal frustration. He seemed to have decided to give up on holding it in his mouth to light it, for he now simply held the end of the cigarette in the flame, turning it over like a marshmallow in a campfire. Of course it had absolutely no effect, and Angel suppressed a snicker at Calder's vexed grunt.

Angel reached over and pulled the cigarette and the lighter from the boy's hands, ignoring his noise of protest. Sticking the cigarette in his own mouth, Angel lit it properly for Calder, drawing in a deep breath of smoke before handing back.

"You know these things can kill you," Angel told him. Centuries of the Surgeon General's Warning had yet to sink in.

"You're one to talk," Calder said, eyeing the cloud of smoke that trailed behind Angel. He took a puff and suppressed a cough.

"I'm already dead, remember?" Angel watched with hidden amusement as Calder tried and failed to coolly inhale another breath of smoke. "So what's happening Friday night?" Angel asked.

Calder glared at Angel. "Nothing. Just hanging out."

Angel didn't believe him, of course, but it didn't matter. Silence fell as they walked, except for more suppressed coughs from Calder. Calder kept glancing at Angel suspiciously, as though waiting for something, but Angel's gaze stayed forward on the dark wooded path. Finally, it seemed that Calder couldn't take it anymore.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to lecture me on the dangers of magic and smoking and staying out late at night?"

Angel chuckled. "I'm not your father, Calder."

"I know, but that hasn't stopped you from lecturing me before."

"I didn't want to be responsible for introducing you to a world you were too young to understand. I tried to warn you about the consequences involved with magic, but that's as far as I went and as far as I'll ever go, unless you become a danger to others. As for smoking and staying out late…" Angel looked at Calder. "You should already know the danger there."

He paused.

"You're thirteen today, right? That makes you a man in some ancient cultures." Angel looked forward again. "You're responsible for your actions now. I can't forbid you to do anything," Angel gave a little chuckle, "and I don't really want to." Silence fell briefly and they emerged from the other side of the woods, high rises towering over the trees, which towered over Angel and Calder.

"So, you're not mad at me?" Calder asked, stopping to wait to cross the street.

Angel shook his head. "No."

He turned right to head back to the magic store, and Calder looked down at the pavement, watching the smoke curl up from the cigarette in his hand. A few steps later Angel turned so he was walking backwards. "I think you've made a few bad choices"—Calder looked up—"but I'm not one to talk about that."

And Angel turned, leaving Calder behind at the intersection.


	9. Chapter 9

Angel did not mention his encounter with Calder to William. He saw no purpose in it.

The news on Saturday morning announced in a short article the vandalism of a small store in the area, thought to be the work of a gang of kids. Angel tossed his Palm (the most basic model he could find in the store and he still didn't know how to use it properly) aside and finished breakfast over his new—well, old—book. The news always announced such petty crimes, and while Angel was fairly certain that the gang who committed the vandalism was Calder's, so long as they weren't hurting anyone, Angel didn't care to have a part in it.

Near midnight several weeks later Angel stood in front of his nearly empty fridge and decided the time had come again to go to the hospital across the street to replenish his blood supply. Angel had switched back to human blood over 70 years earlier, when the government had mandated that every eligible citizen donate blood a certain number of times every year to keep the hospitals well-stocked. Now the hospitals had more blood than they could handle and were happy to give Angel all he needed. He found in his minimal contact with people and with the passage of time, the change affected him little.

He shut the door of the fridge and wondered if he should wear his jacket tonight or not, not for the weather, but for his appearance.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Puzzled at who could want to talk to him so late, Angel left the kitchen and opened his front door.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. Fear swarmed around Angel, prickling his taste buds. The rest of his senses instinctively kicked into high gear. A heart thudded in his ears, forcing adrenaline through the bloodstream, lungs laboriously pushed air in and out, and Calder's body trembled in erratic spurts, as though he were freezing despite the warm spring air.

"Angel," he said. "I—" He stopped, trying to force the words out. "I—" He looked determinedly at Angel and exhaled sharply, blowing out all his hesitation.

"I need help."

Angel jerked his head to signal Calder to come in. Calder hurried in and Angel closed the door behind him.

"I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do." Calder's voice cracked and looked down at the floor. The waves of fear crashed around Angel like a lighthouse in the midst of a storm.

"It's alright," Angel said. "Tell me what's going on."

"I—well, we—I mean. My friends and I…um…"

"You commit petty crimes, I know. Keep going."

Calder looked up.

"Calder, of all people to confess something to, you've picked the one you can't top. What did you do?"

Calder took a breath. "We were supposed to just rob a store. I've never done it before, but some of the others have. It was supposed to be easy, but… The owner was there. We didn't see him until it was too late. One of others took off his gloves, and the owner saw this on the back of his hand." Calder pulled up the right sleeve of his jacket to show a symbol that looked vaguely like a bent-out-of-shape Euro sign tattooed on the lower part of his upper arm, near the crook of the elbow.

"It's a magic symbol—it binds us somehow. I think it's supposed to make it easier to locate each other when we're separated. It appears in different places on different people when you do the spell. It wouldn't be so bad that the owner saw it, since it could have just been a normal tattoo. But as he was struggling against Aether he pulled off his mask. Aether's tattoo is on his cheek. He usually does a concealment spell to hide it, but since he was wearing the mask he didn't bother. So now the owner knows what it looks like and he knows we all have it and he knows we're all kids. If we let him go, he'd tell the police. They'd search the schools and arrest anyone with this symbol on them." Calder's trembling body matched his voice. "So we didn't…"

"Didn't?"

"…Let him go."

Angel let out a long breath of air as that sank in. He shook his head in dismay and rubbed at his brow. " _As ucht Dé_ , Calder."

"I know!"

"What'd you do with him?"

"We kidnapped him. We took him Marlin Castle; Zeus knows how to disarm the system. I didn't want them to do it, but what else could we do? I don't want to go to jail!"

"How did you get away?"

"They sent me for more rope. I thought about running away, but they'd find me with this." He gestured to the symbol. "Angel…when I left, the oldest three, our leaders, they were trying to decide what to do. I walked past them as I went out. Th-they were talking about killing him a-and hiding the body. I think they've gone mad: I've never heard them talk like that."

"They're not going mad, they're scared." Angel replied. "People do stupid things when they're scared. They're not thinking things through." Angel added, almost to himself, "If they were, they'd know that only someone who knows what they're doing would be able to pull that off." He spoke louder again, "Come on." Angel jerked his jacket off its hook and swung it around himself. Appearances definitely counted for this venture.

"You're helping me?"

"You, yes. But I'm also helping that store owner. You realize you're not exactly dealing with the natural consequences of things?" Calder's face fell. "At least not legally." Angel walked over to the wooden chest next to the couch and opened it. "On the way you can tell me about that binding spell you used. I need to know every detail about how you worked it. And just to warn you: it hurts to reverse it."

Calder bit his lip and nodded, but some of the fear ebbed. Angel pulled out two stakes and a dagger and closed the cabinet. He handed a stake to Calder.

"Just in case. The woods are crawling these days."

Calder took the stake.

"Keep it hidden, but convenient to pull out quickly."

Calder nodded and, taking a shaky breath, followed Angel out the door.

* * *

They reached the castle with little difficulty. The vampires and demons of the area who knew Angel tended to give him a wide berth, but then, not everyone knew him. They stayed under cover of the woods as long as possible, leaving to cross the open field at the narrowest point. The guard at the door paced nervously as Angel and Calder approached from the side, and turned wildly at the sound of their soft footsteps.

"Who's there?" he asked. Angel materialized out of the darkness in front of him and the guard jumped.

"What do you-"

"Go home," Angel said.

"No way, I—"

Angel grabbed the boy's shirt roughly in both fists and repeated in a low growl, "Go home." As soon as Angel let go, the boy turned and ran away toward the nearby city as fast as he could.

Angel turned to Calder.

"Is there a place in there you can hide?"

Calder nodded. "We took him to the Great Hall in the tower, but there are all sorts of little rooms between here and there."

"Okay. When we get in, hide yourself where you can hear me, but don't let anyone see you—especially the owner of the store. He can't remember that you were ever a part of this. Okay?"

Calder nodded again. Angel, quietly as possible, turned the knob. This section that they were entering was a reconstruction built about a hundred years ago according to vague and rare old records. The castle hadn't been much of anything special except a home for the ruling family of the region, so the city historians had little to go on. The maintenance of the building was funded mostly by cheap tourist admissions now, and it showed in dusty arrangements of furniture and period props, and a dank scent from old hidden ventilation ducts. Angel wrinkled his nose and led the way toward the tower.

As a human, Angel had always wanted to see the inside of the castle. Miles on the other side of town, it had been a mysterious golden well of fantasies that ran on riches and freedom. He'd even tried to seduce the homely daughter once, just to get a look inside, but she turned him down with a look of horror worse than some of the ones he'd gotten as a vampire.

It turned out that he hadn't been missing much. A plaque beside the doorway leading to the original section of the castle informed them that small rooms lined the perimeter of the tower with an inner corridor servicing both the rooms and the modest Great Hall in the center. As they entered this section of the castle, Angel noted that the carved stonework was minimal and the hall was small and even more dank. His hair just brushed the stone ceiling, which was dotted with scorch marks above the sconces that once held torches. Centuries of staleness assaulted Angel's nose, and he breathed, "Francis Blake, you lying bastard."

When they reached the heavy wooden doors marked by another plaque as being one of several entrances to the Great Hall, Calder pointed significantly at it, and then at a set of coiling stone stairs in a corner to the left, which he then climbed until he was just out of sight.

A light from-Angel guessed-a portable lantern or two glowed around the edge of the slightly ajar door, illuminating the iron handles and braces. He edged closer to listen to the voices inside the room.

"…yup, Pan took off. He should've been back nearly half an hour ago. Doesn't matter, we'll find him."

"You don't suppose he ratted on us, do you?"

Another voice piped up, "He wouldn't be stupid enough to do that… Would he?"

The first voice spoke again. "He might. Making a confession reduces the charges."

The angry voice of the leader "Zeus" spoke, "There won't be any charges when we're done here."

"What are you going to do with me?" a terrified male voice asked—from the floor, by the sound of it.

Though Angel couldn't see the speaker, the reply came with an obvious sneer, "Apollo's been reading about other dimensions and how to send people to them. How does a world without sun sound? Better pack your winter coat…" There was an appreciative, yet nervous laugh from the group. "He should be back soon, too. Then we can get started."

Angel had heard enough. Pushing the heavy door open and striding into the room, he said, "Unless he bailed on you, too."

Several of the teens yelled in surprise; the ones who were sitting jumped to their feet, and they all assumed defensive fighting positions. The two who had been standing on either side of the door grabbed Angel and held him back.

Angel took a brief moment in his supposed captivity to admire the Great Hall. Small for its kind, but much grander than the rest of the castle so far. This room was at least a little more befitting the rumors. The room was stone from floor to tapestry-covered walls, and the ceiling soared high above them, beams curving up into supports for the floors above and iron chandeliers below. In the middle of the room, there were long wooden tables with equally long benches arranged in a U shape. At the top of the U was an elaborately-carved dark wood chair, with shorter, but similarly-carved chairs spreading out like wings to either side.

The kids had set up camp with their captor near the arms of the U, with portable lanterns on the ends of each table and their captive on the floor between then, hands and feet bound.

"Who are you?," the leader demanded, marching up to Angel with an open pocket knife. His eyes were wide and terrified, long hair coming loose from his ponytail in a way that made him look somewhat insane. "How did you get in? What did you do to our guard?"

Angel shook his head in mock wonder. "I guess everyone's deserting you tonight. That happens when you make really stupid decisions. For the record: robbing a store, kidnapping the owner, and killing him are all really stupid decisions."

"I knew it!" one of the kids behind the leader shouted. "Pan ratted on us!"

"I got all the information I needed just listening to you. Rule number one for forming evil plans: never spell them out—anyone could be eavesdropping. I'm sure _I_ never made that mistake when _I_ was evil…"

Zeus's eyes narrowed and he shifted uncomfortably. "Who are you?"

"You really don't want to know."

Zeus took a step forward and touched the tip of his knife to Angel's throat. The two kids holding Angel tightened their grip. Inside, Angelus yearned to put the kid properly in his place.

 _All in good time_.

"I think I _do_ want to know," the kid said. "And as I'm holding the knife here, I think you want to tell me."

Angel laughed. It was not jolly or hearty or genuine. It was degrading and cruel and downright creepy. "What are you going to do? Threaten me? Threats are only good if you follow through on them. And I know you won't do that."

The teen's face hardened in anger. "You don't know anything about me," he spat.

Still smiling, Angel said, "I wasn't talking about your intentions to follow through. I was talking about your ability." Before anyone could register what happened, the kids holding Angel hit the ground with loud thuds, the knife flew out of its owner's hand and clanged in a dark corner, and a bewildered Zeus found himself pinned against the wall that used to be behind Angel, with Angel's own dagger to Zeus's throat.

"The rest of you leave," Angel called to the shocked kids behind him. "Now." Most of them ran for the door, the rest hesitated and followed.

Angel took the dagger off the kid's throat and pulled him roughly toward the captive—a pudgy man with black hair and a thick mustache—and away from the open door. Releasing him suddenly so the boy stumbled, Angel said sharply, "Don't move."

He bent and sliced the ropes that bound the man, who had managed to get them fairly loose already. The man scrambled to his feet a little shakily.

"Go home," Angel said quietly. The man stumbled out as quickly as he could.

"Now," Angel turned to the terrified leader. "We need to talk. We can do it any way you want. Easiest for you," he pointed the dagger in the leader's direction, "would be to give me the information I need. Most fun for me," he pointed the dagger at himself, "would be various forms of threatening or, I'll admit, torture." Angel sighed wistfully and fingered the blade of his dagger. "It's just been too long."

The leader trembled.

"So," Angel continued, "let's get to it. I understand you and your little gang have been employing a binding spell so you'd know where to find one another in times of crisis, or in case one of your numbers deserted you. If you did it right, you should be able to tell me the general direction of the one you call 'Pan.'"

The leader seemed to concentrate a moment before pointing over Angel's shoulder in the direction of the door. Angel smiled with one corner of his mouth.

"Not bad. It's not one of your more basic spells. Been practicing long?"

"Apollo…"

Angel nodded thoughtfully, still fingering the blade. "If memory serves, you need what's called a _concero_ —an object that's unique to the group—to complete the spell. What was yours?"

The leader's voice shook. "Th-the knife."

"The one you threatened me with?"

The boy nodded. Angel considered that for a moment before calling, "Calder. Come here." A moment later Calder emerged from the door behind Angel and approached cautiously, unsure how close he should get.

"You!" the leader yelled, fear temporarily forgotten in his anger. "You lying, deserting bastard! You just wait, Pan, just wait until -"

"Be quiet." Angel said commandingly, and the boy fell silent. Angel turned to Calder.

"I think the knife went that way," he pointed to the corner to Calder's left. Calder nodded and went to look for it. Angel turned back to the leader and smiled in false pleasantry, still toying with his blade.

They waited.

"Here!" There was a slight scrape of metal on stone as Calder picked up the knife and his footsteps approached from behind. The knife appeared at Angel's elbow and he took it without looking, stowing his own dagger away in his belt. He took a few steps forward, the knife pointed at its owner and bouncing gently up and down as Angel spoke.

"This is the _concero_?"

The boy nodded. He looked like he desperately wanted to back up, but his feet seemed too paralyzed with fear.

"You're sure?" Angel used the blade of the knife to gently lift up the boy's head, forcing him to look directly into Angel's eyes. He let Angelus appear for a split second before pushing him back down. "I would hate to find out that you were lying to me." Actually, Angel was quite sure the boy was telling the truth, but this was just too much fun. Angelus whispered many nasty suggestions in Angel's ear.

"It is, that's it! I swear! Tell him!" The kid's eyes switched desperately to Calder for confirmation. Angel turned to look at Calder also, keeping pressure on the blade.

"I guess it is," he said. "I don't know how the spell worked, but we used that knife in it."

Angel allowed his satisfaction to show as he turned back. He took the blade out from under the boy's chin and looked at it.

"Tell me," he said conversationally, "how is a thing like this unique to your gang?" He turned the knife over, inspecting it. "Pocket knives are not uncommon, particularly amongst petty criminals such as yourself."

"It was my great-uncle's. He made knives, and that one he made just for himself. There's no other like it. He gave it to me before he died."

Angel made a noise of mild interest—although in actuality the boy had just given him an important piece of information—and continued the interview.

"The chant," he said. "Latin or Italian?"

"Latin."

"The stone?"

"Apatite."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I remember because Apollo said it was apatite and I was hungry at the time, so-"

"And the candles?"

"Green and 100% soy wax. So it wouldn't burn so fast."

"Alright." Angel had all he needed. "Anything else you care to add?" The boy shook his head.

"Nothing you know of that might cause it to go wrong? You did everything to the letter? Nothing added? Nothing omitted? Nothing substituted?"

"No, that's it. Really."

Angel nodded. "Then it's time to leave. I'll be keeping this." He bounced the knife again in gesture.

"Hey! It's mine!"

"Yes, that's true, it is. Do you want to leave me your address? I'll mail it back…"

The thought of telling Angel exactly where he lived did not seem to appeal to the kid, so he scowled instead.

"Alright then," Angel said, closing the knife and pocketing it as he turned and headed for the door. When he reached it, he swung around abruptly as if he had just thought of something. "Did you know that if you scalped a man and hung him upside down alive it would take seven minutes and 43 seconds for all the blood to drain from his body? Depending on how deep you cut the scalp, of course. It varies." He paused. "I wonder how I knew that…"

And, turning, he left the building. Calder took one look at his former leader and hurried after Angel.

There was just one problem: Angel had disappeared.


	10. Chapter 10

Calder stepped outside, scanning the field and distant woods in all directions, and realized with an awful feeling of dread that Angel had vanished. That was it. He'd helped Calder stop he and his friends from becoming murderers and now he was on his own. Calder was left standing all alone in a dark field in the middle of the night with a furious, scared, adrenaline-filled teenager in the castle somewhere behind him, waiting for the opportunity to pound Calder to a bloody pulp (not to mention who-knew-how-many vampires and demons lurking in the darkness of the woods, waiting for easy prey like him), and Calder's only defense was a stick poking out of his back pocket.

Calder took a few uncertain steps along the side of the castle-the city was closest on the back side-but found himself yanked backwards, choking against his collar.

"You're in big trouble, Pan, you know that?" Zeus spun Calder around and punched him hard in the stomach. Calder gasped at the pain, doubling over and wheezing. Zeus grabbed the back of Calder's shirt at the neck again, and yanked up. Calder struggled to get air into his lungs as his own shirt choked him.

"No one ever betrays me and gets away with it."

Still coughing, Calder made a wild swing at Zeus, but missed. Calder could almost feel the heat from Zeus's anger.

"No one tries to punch me and gets away with it, either." He raised his fist, this time aiming for Calder's nose. Before Calder could react, an arm swung past his ear and hit Zeus directly in the jaw. He went flying into the side of the building; and luckily for Calder, he had let go of his shirt.

"I'm willing to test that," Angel said, advancing on the stunned kid. Angel growled a terrifying animal growl that sent chills down Calder's spine. Calder wondered if Angel was in full vampire form—something that Calder realized he had never seen before. Angel thrust the kid roughly against the wall, their faces inches from each other.

"Calder is my friend." Angel said slowly. "Don't come near him ever again. He was never in your gang. In fact, you don't even know who he is. Got it?" The kid whimpered and nodded. "I don't need your address to find you. I get a hint from Calder that you're so much as irritating him, and we're going to have another nice little chat. I may even bring your knife back." Angel let go and turned around. His face was human.

"Coming?" he asked Calder, and led the way across the field toward the shortcut through the woods.

* * *

Their walk was mostly silent. Calder's thoughts raced in all different directions and he wrestled to get control of some of them, trying to make the events of the night sink in. Calder had clearly heard everything that happened before he came into the room with Angel and Zeus. A part of him wished he hadn't.

Though Calder knew Angel was strong and intimidating, Calder had never seen or heard Angel act remotely vampire-like, and thus hadn't realized just  _how_  strong and intimidating—no, scary—Angel could really be. He had tried to mention it out loud once—for reasons he didn't know; perhaps he'd hoped that speaking could clarify some things—by commenting, "you really hit him hard…"

Angel's casual reply of, "not really," sent Calder's thoughts whirring again. He didn't speak the rest of the walk to the red line stop at the Institute of Technology, and nursed his sore abdomen as a distraction.

Angel himself didn't seem inclined to speak, either, though not because of confusing thoughts or high-strung emotions. His walk was pleasant—almost… _bouncy_.

It was still dark, though it was almost time for the extra-early-risers of the city to wake up when they reached the stop. Angel asked Calder if he wanted him to go with him all the way to the west side, and Calder shook his head. Public transit wasn't nearly as scary as everything else that had just happened. Angel told him to get some sleep and they would do the counterspell to the binding magic that evening—there was something Angel needed to get first. Calder nodded and sat down on the bench to wait for the next tram as Angel started to walk away, but as he sat, he was painfully reminded of something.

"Angel."

Angel turned. Pulling the stake out of his back pocket, Calder stood up and held it out to Angel, who glanced at it.

"Keep it," he said. "I have plenty." And Angel turned and walked off down the street.

* * *

Calder was immeasurably glad it was Saturday. He slept in well past lunch and bumbled about the rest of the afternoon in a daze. The previous night's events were beginning to settle in, but that by no means meant he wasn't still confused and, yes, scared, too.

Calder admitted it: Angel had scared him.

While on the one hand, having Angel protect, defend, and help him was no end of badass (Zeus would be afraid of Calder now— _Zeus_ , who wasn't afraid of anything, was now afraid of  _Calder_ ), the horrible thought that weighed on his mind was that it was just a one-time thing. Angel had called Calder a friend when he rescued Calder from the pummeling outside the castle, but Calder wasn't sure Angel had meant it. Calder had given him no reason to call him a friend in recent months, so why should he think they were? It was clear to Calder that Angel had fun last night (which also scared him), and if he had gone so far as to threaten torture, why would a little lie about friendship perturb Angel? The upcoming spell was the last bit of friendly—and by friendly, Calder meant not hostile—contact Angel had promised Calder. What if Angel turned on him next?

Calder's thoughts ran along this vein, as well as many others—all involving Calder trying to convert the information about the Angel he once knew to the Angel he saw last night—until just after the sun set, when Calder grabbed his jacket and left, as usual not bothering to announce where he was going.

* * *

Calder knocked on Angel's door, comparing the terror he had felt last time he knocked to the apprehension he felt this time. The door swung open a moment later and Calder stepped inside.

"You ready?" Angel asked.

Calder nodded.

"Good."

Calder tried not to let his emotions show. "Do you have everything he said you needed?"

"They used pretty standard items." Angel closed the door behind Calder. "Apatite is used in a lot of spells and it's really hard to get anything but soy candles anymore. To tell you the truth I was more worried about the  _concero_. That could have complicated things." Angel went to sit on the couch in front of the apothecary table as he spoke.

"But…the thing you said you had to get first…"

Angel looked toward the kitchen. Calder looked too, and his heart caught in his throat. William was standing there.

"What…?" Calder couldn't finish the question. He wasn't sure how he felt about having William witness this. He'd wanted William to stay separate from this part of his life for a reason.

"I'm helping." William said.

"We could do it without him," Angel said, and Calder turned to him, "but it wouldn't work as well."

"Why?"

Angel was now pulling things out of various drawers in the apothecary table.

"We're bringing you out of the grasp of one circle back into the, albeit looser, grasp of a bigger one—the world. The stronger the bond between the person doing the pulling and you, the easier it will be, and the more likely it is to work." Angel had finished finding the objects he needed and was now arranging them on the table.

"It might not work?"

"Sometimes when a person is too involved in a particular group they become inseparable from it. But you haven't been with this group long and it makes all the difference that you  _want_  the connection severed. We shouldn't have a problem." Angel finished arranging the objects. Two thick, dark-green candles stood about two feet from each other, with a clear, sharp-looking quartz-like stone that stood upright in the center. The pocket knife Angel had taken from Zeus lay parallel to the line the three objects made, with the sharp edge towards the stone. Angel addressed Calder,

"There's a book on the end of that half-bookcase, second shelf from the bottom. It's thick and has a dark blue cover."

"What's it called?" Calder asked as he went to find the book.

" _Rosenberg's Compilation of Counter-Curses for the Cursed_. But don't bother looking for it. The title wore off years ago." Angel shifted his attention to William, "You sit here." Angel slid down the couch one space for William to take his place.

Calder found the volume and pulled it off the shelf. He gently opened the front cover of the book as he walked back.

"Hey," he said, "Someone wrote in it." He squinted at the letters, but it was in cursive and he couldn't decipher it.

"A friend gave it to me." Angel said, and took the book from Calder. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the footstool on the other side of the apothecary table. Calder sat down opposite William and Angel, who thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

Angel turned the book around and held it closer to Calder. "Normally William would be the one to say the bigger parts, but it'll be easier if I do it and act as a conduit for you. The spell is sensitive, and pronunciation is important. He'll say each first line, I'll finish the section, then you say your part, here, here, and here." He pointed out the spots on the page. "Got it?"

"Yeah, but I said something different last time."

"Yes. You were proclaiming your membership of the circle; now you're renouncing it. Let's practice a few times before starting." Angel walked Calder through the pronunciation of the phrases until he had it right before turning to William.

"You have your part?"

William pulled out his Palm from his pocket and placed it on the table, drawing the projection up and then shrinking it to about the size of Calder's book (Angel made an incredulous noise in his throat but quickly refocused his attention). Calder could see a few Latin phrases on the screen. William demonstrated that he could pronounce them for Angel, who nodded and turned back to Calder.

"Make sure that symbol on your arm is uncovered at all times."

Calder hesitated, but pulled his jacket off so that, with his short sleeves, the symbol was in complete view. Calder shifted uncomfortably as he felt Williams eyes stare at the symbol.

Angel continued, "Like I said, this is going to hurt. Probably more than the original spell. Don't say anything except these phrases after we start. Questions, either of you?" The boys shook their heads. "Alright. Join hands. You can rest your arms on the table."

William immediately stretched his arms out on either side of the crystal, and Calder hesitantly took his hands. It felt strange. He looked up into William's eyes. William offered a small, encouraging smile. Calder took a calming breath and focused back on their hands.

Angel had dimmed the lights until they were nearly out; sending them into a darkness that Calder's eyes weren't used to. Angel took out a lighter and lit the candles. Calder glanced at the book beside him. He could still read the phrases he would have to recite, but just barely. His eyes would have to adjust a bit more.

Angel leaned over and grasped William's and Calder's hands: the conduit. He closed his eyes for a moment in preparation before starting. When Angel opened his eyes he looked at William, and nodded.

Nothing happened at first when William spoke. It was eerie how silent the room, and even the outside world, had become in the darkness; like everything in the room wanted to listen to what William and then Angel were saying. The air began to stir, though the darkness and the silence seemed as present as ever—unaffected by the movement of the air. The flames began to flicker and Calder wondered what would happen if they went out.

It was Calder's turn. He spoke as fluidly as possible, though he had no idea what he was saying. It must have worked because at his last word, the knife that had been lying peacefully on the table sprang up, startling both he and William, and balanced perfectly on its point. William spoke the next line, and the knife remained perfectly still, though the stirring of the air could now definitely be called a "breeze."

Angel's voice during his parts had been gentle at first, but it grew louder and more forceful as he progressed. Calder wished he knew what he was saying. What words were making this happen? William's hands tightened in his ever so slightly, and Angel's grasp was steady and strong (and cold). He could feel some sort of electricity flowing through their hands, like when Calder and his friends-ex-friends-had cast the original spell.

The time came again for Calder to speak. This time, at the utterance of his last word, the knife rose in the air and hovered, facing Calder as if ready to strike. William tightened his grip in Calder's hands as he finished his part, and both of them glanced nervously at Angel. Angel seemed to have expected the knife to do what it was doing, if the calmly resolute expression was any indication. Calder relaxed again, though only slightly. Angel had said it would hurt. It wasn't going to stab him, was it?

The wind picked up.

Calder dreaded his next, his final, line. What was he unknowingly telling the knife to do to him? William's hands tightened again. Keeping a wary eye on the knife, Calder gave it its last cue. He barely heard Angel and William's voices as they each spoke again—he was too busy watching the knife float toward him, then down. To his tattoo. And suddenly, Calder realized what it must do. It was going to cut the symbol out.

It was just Angel's voice now, loud, clear, and strong. The cool tip of the knife touched Calder's skin a moment before puncturing. Calder flinched and he felt William flinch as well. It couldn't have been fun to see, but it felt worse. As though through butter, the knife sliced through Calder's skin, tracing the mark. The wind was a definite force now, whipping around the three of them, and though the candles flickered wildly they did not go out.

Calder watched the knife, desperately wanting it to finish and be over with, and biting his lip, trying his best not to make any noise. Angel had said not to say anything. What if he accidentally messed up the spell with a grunt of pain?

It was almost done tracing. Calder barely noticed William's hands clenched in his own. Angel alone remained steady and unperturbed by everything that was happening as he continued to chant, repeating the last section over and over until the knife was finished.

The knife had made a complete circuit around the edge of the symbol, but it wasn't done. Lifting out of his skin, the blade turned ninety degrees and lowered once again at an angle. It pushed itself into Calder's arm and Calder drew a quick intake of breath. It was going to pry the symbol out.

Calder had been trying so hard not to whimper in pain, so it surprised him when he heard it. He looked up at William. His friend's face was screwed up as he leaned protectively over his own right arm—where Calder was hurting. Realization dawned on Calder with horror. William was feeling it, too. William's arm was bare and Calder could make out no cuts or blood, but William's pain was not of the squeamish kind. It was real. Calder looked up at Angel. Even his brow was slightly more furrowed than usual, but it might have been in concentration as he continued the piercing chant. The tearing of his skin brought Calder cruelly back to his own pain.

The symbol was almost out, pried up by the knife, which was acting like a lever, only cutting where his skin refused to separate from his muscle. With a last repetition of the final phrase so forceful Angel nearly shouted it, the skin broke off completely and Calder and William gave a last cry of pain. Breathing heavily, they watched Calder's skin float up and over to the sharp apatite, where it hovered.

Angel quietly said one last thing in Latin. The skin dropped, or was pushed, downward onto the apatite's point where it burst into mist and vanished. Immediately, the pain in Calder's arm went away, the candles blew out, and the wind stopped.

All three of them relaxed. Angel took his hands away, and both boys withdrew theirs, stretching their fingers out of the clenched knots they'd become. Angel used a voice-command to turn on the lights. Calder looked down at his arm. His skin was unblemished.

"So, it worked?" William asked.

"It worked." Angel replied. He looked exhausted.

"You- I didn't know you would feel it, too." Calder said, not looking at either of them.

"We did." William replied. He did not elaborate. Calder looked at the book as a distraction.

"So why do you turn down the lights?" William asked.

"It helps with concentration," Angel replied, slowly gathering the candles and stone and putting them away. "Less distractions."

"Angel?" Calder asked.

"Mm?"

"I can figure out what we must have said to make the knife do what it did, but what about the wind? What did we say to make that come? And why?"

Angel closed the drawers of the table and stood up. "There's always wind," he said. Angel held out his hand for the book. Calder looked at it one last time, closed it, and handed it to Angel, who walked it over and delicately put it back in its place. He let his fingers linger over it an extra second before turning to the boys.

"Hungry? Thirsty?"

They nodded vigorously and the three of them went into the kitchen for a cup of tea.


	11. Chapter 11

 

William and Calder never discussed the spell or anything that happened prior to it—at least in depth. It being William's first real step into the world of magic, he eagerly brought up various aspects of the spell on occasion ("Did you feel the magic flowing through us?" "The knife just… _floated_ there…" "I wonder what the candles do?" "Is there _really_ wind in every spell?"), but neither of them spoke of anything deeper than that; nor was Calder's life in the gang of Greek gods ever mentioned.

Their friendship resumed. It was somewhat awkward for Calder, but the physical pain they had shared-and that it had been completely voluntary on William's part-was enough to tell him that he was welcome back to his old life.

The problem was, it didn't feel like his old life anymore.

Though he and William still visited each other, talked at school, and strolled around town with their other friends, like old times, Calder felt drastically changed. Even after he got over the awkwardness in his relationship with William, Calder still felt that everything had shifted and he didn't know how to put it back—or even if he could. Suddenly, he and William had different experiences and while it felt awkward to acknowledge that difference, it also felt pointless to deny it.

William was still essentially William, albeit more mature than when they had separated, but Calder felt like a stranger in his own mind. The things he'd done and seen weighed on him. He tried ignoring the weight, but it didn't work. He tried mentally working through it, but found he wasn't quite sure how. He tried distracting himself with friends and activities he used to enjoy. That usually worked for a little while, but as soon as the distraction was gone, the weight was back.

Calder found himself watching groups of teens and young adults that reminded him of his former circle, wondering…

Though William's actions had never made him feel so… _loved_ , Calder had also never felt so alone. There was no one he knew that he could, or wanted to, talk to. He wasn't even sure talking would help, but it was the only thing he hadn't done. Of his friends, the only one who would care to hear about Calder's problems was William—and Calder was not about to divulge that part of his life to his only true friend.

Angel had crossed Calder's thoughts as one to talk to, then dismissed just as quickly. Calder had not seen Angel since the night of the spell, refusing William's suggestions of going to visit him under various pretenses of being "busy" or simply "not in the mood." If Calder were in Angel's position, he wouldn't want to listen to a scared, confused 13-year-old who had already dragged him into helping him fix his petty deeds; which involved using an extremely painful spell just to get the stupid kid out of trouble.

That, and Angel still scared him. Calder wasn't about to push his luck with a vampire whom he now knew loved scaring the—swearing was the one thing that still gave Calder a fleeting sense of power and control— _shit_ out of people. No, Angel was not an option. So Calder made it through the next few weeks as he had been: with many distractions and masks to assure the world that he was fine, great, just fantastic; and at night he wrestled his demons alone.

Calder's mood did not slip William. As the only one who came close to knowing Calder's thoughts, William caught the sneaked sighs, false face-brightenings, and glazed looks of his best friend. One fine day in early summer found William and Calder sitting on the swings of one of the playgrounds they frequented as young kids, rocking gently back and forth. As Calder issued one of those barely audible sighs, William surprised Calder by saying,

"You know you can talk about it with me."

Calder stared at William for a moment. William had never been one to take such initiative with a situation—it was always Calder who blurted out those sentences that were direct and out-of-the-blue. Calder looked away.

"What?" Calder asked, though he knew it was of no use.

"You know what."

Calder didn't respond.

"You can tell me whatever you want," William gently pressed.

"No I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you don't understand."

"Do I need to?"

Calder didn't answer right away. Then he said quietly, "I don't want you to."

Silence fell again as they pushed gently against the ground, rocking with the light breeze.

* * *

A knock came through the door to Calder's flat a few days later. Calder was playing a game on his Palm, so he thought about shouting at his younger brother to answer the door instead, but decided that the argument might not be worth it. Besides, he was losing. He paused and dropped the game and went to open the door. He was shocked to see Angel standing there.

"Hi," Angel said.

Leaning into the door, Calder let his eyes glance around aimlessly before replying, "Hi."

"Can I come in?" Angel asked. Calder wasn't sure he wanted to let him. The fact that Angel had never been invited to Calder's meant that Calder was still protected. If he really thought about it, he trusted Angel enough not to kill him, but he liked the power he held too much to let it go just yet.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"To talk."

"About what?"

Angel shrugged. "Whatever. I haven't seen you in a while. Why haven't you been by?"

 _Let's see,_ Calder thought, _you're a sadistic vampire who delights in pain and fear; you thoroughly enjoyed threatening to torture and kill my frie- my ex-friend; your weak punches send people flying into walls; and you don't care about the things I've done because you've done things a hundred times worse!_

As these thoughts flew through Calder's head, a frown appeared on Angel's face. He seemed to be studying Calder. Calder's heart quickened—which made him realize it was already thudding a little extra hard—as the thought occurred to him: _Can Angel read minds?_

"Are you afraid of me, Calder?"

Apparently, he could. Or something equal to it.

"Well..." Calder said. "Yeah!"

Angel raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

"It's not funny!" Calder said indignantly. "You were really scary that night with the torture and death threats and the playing with the knife and…" He hesitated. "…And you have a really creepy laugh." Angel was failing to hide his amusement. "It's not funny," Calder said again.

Still trying not to smile, Angel said, "You're right. I'm sorry, it's not. It's just… Of all things I was expecting, that wasn't it. I was trying to scare your leader, not you." There was a pause. "Look," Angel continued, "if I can't come in, will you come out?"

"Out?"

"Yeah. Let's take a walk."

Calder glanced around again.

"You can go get your stake if it would make you feel safer."

Calder looked at Angel. He wasn't mocking him; he was completely serious.

"Okay," Calder agreed and went to get his stake and jacket. He returned a minute later.

"Ready?" Angel asked.

Calder nodded. "Yeah. And…you can come in."

"Why the invite?"

"Because," Calder said, closing the door behind him and whipping his jacket over his shoulders, "I'm not _that_ scared of you."

Their walk began in silence. They both seemed to be waiting until they were well out of earshot of Calder's flat, as though they required privacy from the eyes and ears of Calder's home. The cool night air stirred. Finally, Angel spoke.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For scaring you. I should have said something. I forgot you had never seen that side of me before—actually, half the time I forgot you were there."

"That into it, were you?" Calder's tone was somewhat bitter.

"Yes." Angel answered honestly. It surprised Calder. "Calder, I'm not going to pretend I didn't enjoy it. You know there's a demon in me—that I _am_ a demon. Just know that I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"But if I did something like Zeus…"

"I don't kill or torture anymore. The kid just needed a good scare so that he'd never try anything that stupid again." Angel let that digest a moment. "Are we okay?"

Calder nodded. "Yeah."

Silence fell for a moment again before Angel spoke. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling you didn't stop coming over with William just because of me."

Calder didn't respond right away. "It's just…" he paused, "things aren't like they used to be."

"No they're not. Did you expect them to?"

Calder shrugged. "I want them to… I mean, everything _else_ is the same as it was before I…before; and now I can't fit into it anymore. School is still school and Will is still Will and I'm…I'm not me."

"Things aren't the same, Calder. Things are never the same. Things change, people change. You can't fit in to the way things used to be because things _aren't_ the way they used to be. William's is different, too, if you'd take the time to notice."

"How is he different? He didn't go through anything like I did. He didn't become…" Calder took a deep breath, kicked at a broken piece of pavement, and said quietly, "he didn't become a criminal." It was the first time Calder has ever applied that word to himself. But that's what he was, right? Maybe not the kind that got maximum security for life, but he could have definitely spent time in prison if things had gone differently.

"First of all," Angel said, "you're right, William did not share your experience. He went through something very different. But you don't have to go completely over to the dark side to change, you know. I once knew a Seer who…well, let's just say you couldn't find two more different people than the girl she was in high school to the person she became after she got the visions. Second of all: criminal?" Angel looked over at Calder with a raised eyebrow. "No one was hurt and it's all in the past. Don't be so hard on yourself." Angel looked forward again.

"I just keep wondering what will happen if someone finds out…"

"No one's going to find out. The only people who can say anything are you and me."

Calder furrowed his brow. "But what about the rest of the gang? I know you did the whole threatening thing, but they can still go at any minute and-"

"—They can't," Angel interrupted. Calder stared at Angel, confused. Angel sighed. "I…" he started, then began again. "It's not exactly ethical, using magic this way, which is why I didn't tell you, but…I changed the spell we did, a little. You two probably could have done it on your own the way we were supposed to do it, but I added a few things in…"

"What did you do?" Calder asked, a little resentful that Angel had not let them in on it.

Angel glanced sideways at Calder before replying. "I made it so no one in your group can say anything about your involvement with them. If they try…" Angel tried to think of a way to describe it, but couldn't. "Well, trust me: they can't say anything. They can't write it down, either," Angel added. "I could have done it after you left, but it was easier when you were still connected to them. This way I didn't miss anyone."

Calder was silent for a minute, a wave of relief washing through him, mixing with a swell of gratitude for Angel. "And William?" he asked after a minute.

"Doesn't know anything you haven't told him."

"So…you didn't tell him anything about why we had to do the spell?"

"I told him that there was a spell cast on you to bind you to this group, and that you wanted to break it."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Calder thought for a moment. "Thanks," he said. It was too small a word to express what Calder felt, but it would have to do for the moment.

A crash echoed in an alleyway just ahead of them. Angel broke into a run, Calder close behind.

A quick glance around the corner seemed to be all Angel needed to asses the situation, but Calder needed a bit more time. He stayed at the entrance to the narrow side street while Angel strode down, approaching the figures in the relative darkness. Calder heard whimpering somewhere and some evil-sounding chuckling. He guessed there were four figures down there, not including Angel's, though it was hard to tell because of the fight that had broken out. One of the figures—a young woman—came pelting out of the alley and past Calder without a second look at him.

So, there were three—no, make that two, now—vampires left. At least, Calder assumed they were vampires, based on the way that one fell to dust. It was possibly the strangest thing Calder had seen: a human figure just collapsing into dust. There went another one. Calder had long lost track of where Angel was—the figures were so fast he could barely make anything out. Then suddenly, they stopped.

"Calder," Angel's voice came from the alley. "Come here."

Calder tentatively made his way down the alley. As he got closer, he could see Angel, in normal human face, holding the last vampire, in vampire face, in an impossibly strong grip.

Calder stared at the vampire. He had never seen one in vampire form before. Its teeth looked sharper than he imagined and its eyes were eerily yellow. Though its arms were pinned in a pretzel shape behind his back at no angle that would allow for any kind of force and Angel had it leaning so far back and off balance that it couldn't move its feet, it still struggled to get free in feeble, yet vehement jerks. It growled from somewhere deep inside of it. Calder involuntarily shivered.

"Stake him," Angel said.

Calder jerked slightly. "Huh?"

"You've got a stake. Stake him."

Calder pulled the stake out of his pocket, looked at it, then looked at Angel. "Really?"

Angel nodded. Calder raised the stake somewhat awkwardly. He looked at the point, looked at vampire's heart, and allowed himself a slight smile as he plunged the stake into the vampire's chest. Just like the others, it crumbled into dust in front of his eyes. Angel stepped back out of the way and brushed off what dust fell on his sleeves.

"Good job," Angel said. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," Calder replied. "Actually, I do."


	12. Chapter 12

Cathartic though that night in the alley had been for Calder, Angel knew the boy was still working through some issues—one conversation and a vampire slaying wasn't going to solve everything. Even so, Calder began visiting again with William, and any discomfort around Angel all but disappeared after Angel announced that he'd decided to train both boys to fight.

Several days a week, Angel would take them to a park or cemetery somewhere outside his neighborhood to teach them the ways of martial arts and swordsmanship, and-when luck was with them-give them first hand experience with newly-risen vampires. They would have had more luck finding real fights in Merlin Park Woods, but that was in Angel's southeastern corner of the city, and leaving his self-delineated borders was important in a way that was more of a vampiric territorial thing than Angel wanted to admit. He'd told the boys that he had his neighborhood (he had to stop himself from calling it a "nest") well under control and it would be better for the rest of the city if they learned to fight and patrol elsewhere. And it was true… It was just more true that he deeply disliked the idea of allowing more hunters into his territory.

Their training sessions were cathartic, too, for all of them, and it came to the point where, after a few months of working together in this new capacity of Angel as a true teacher to the boys, Angel half-wondered if Calder was still struggling with the same questions he'd voiced—and the ones he didn't—during that walk.

His answer came in a cemetery just beyond the northern edge of town one late-summer night as the three of them searched for a new grave marked with a name Angel had noticed in the obituaries. The victim was young and had died of strange animal bites. Angel wasn't positive that she had been sired, but the beautiful ones were often turned as companions; and the picture of this 20-something told Angel that she was not lacking in the beauty department.

"Angel?" Calder asked hesitantly from somewhere to his right.

"Mm?"

But Calder didn't continue right away.

"Cal!" William called. Angel and Calder looked over to Angel's left, where William was standing with his stake out, ready for the vampire that was closing in on him. Calder dashed his side, ready also.

Angel watched intently, staying out of the way, but close enough to intervene if needed. It was only their third or fourth real fight. Angel wanted to stick with the new vampires for a while, even though there weren't often many. Usually, the cemetery just provided a good, open, quiet space to practice with each other. But not tonight, apparently.

Angel worried, of course, if he was doing the right thing in training them. If he had been thinking when he met William and Calder, he would have shut the boys out completely before they could become too involved in his world. Humans had a tendency to not be able to extract themselves from the world of demons once introduced, and they also had a tendency to die early as a result. But they were already involved. When it came down to it, Angel knew neither of them would choose to back out, so what was there left to do, but prepare them for it? He was just lucky that Mrs. Cole had agreed, however reluctantly, with this point of view.

He circled the boys, occasionally barking out instructions on their balance, their postures, where to strike, when to block. He tried to keep from giving it all away, wanting them to learn from mistakes, but Angel shuddered at the thought of William going home to his mother badly bruised and bleeding.

He had to admit, though, they were doing well. They both worked hard-Calder especially-and hadn't even complained when Angel gave them books to read about martial arts. Soon, Angel just stood and watched.

If he had to guess, this was the vampire that had sired the one they were going to meet. He had that look about him: that, desperate-enough-to-kill-a-girl-to-get-her-to-like-him look. If that free-spirited glint in the girl's eyes from her picture was any indication, their relationship wouldn't last the night. And speaking of…

Angel swore quietly under his breath as he noticed the newly-turned vampire claw her way up from the earth a few graves away. He took one last glance at the boys. They would be alright for now. He made his way over to the young vampire, who was stumbling to her feet, holding her ears in a way that would have been peculiar if Angel couldn't empathize with her.

"It's loud, isn't it?" he asked as he neared her.

She jerked up, clods of dirt flying from her loose blonde hair, already baring her fangs and testing out her new growling capabilities. She lowered her hands and narrowed her eyes.

"What?" she snarled.

"The world," he said. "It's different with all your heightened senses. You get used to it after a while. But you'll have to take my word on that."

"What?" she asked again. "Who are _you_?"

Angel ignored the question. "You're not getting out of this graveyard," he said. "They need the practice, you see." He indicated Calder and William, who, by the sound of it, were still unharmed. The vampire's eyes narrowed.

"You think a few kids can take me?" She laughed. "Do you know what I _am_? What I can _do_? I feel it now: more power than any human ever dreamed of having."

"Yeah," Angel said, "it's kind of cool, isn't it? Don't underestimate humans, though." He turned to look at William and Calder and made up his mind. He would be right there, ready. "Tell you what," he said, turning back to the vampire, "have a go at them. Even the odds a bit, help your old sire. That _is_ your sire, right?"

"He…bit me…" the girl confirmed, watching the figures. Angel stepped back and spread his arm out in invitation.

"Go test out those new skills of yours."

The vampire's eyes glared suspiciously at Angel, but she took one hungry look at the inexperienced fighters and was won over. Angel followed behind her. William noticed her approach.

"Calder!"

Calder turned and swore. "You take her, I'll stay on this one!" he ordered.

William nodded and shifted his attention to the female vampire. Angel circled intently, ready to jump in at a moment's notice. It was their first solo fight, and each had yet to work without the advantage of one distracting so the other could swing in for the kill. Angel was so alert to any indication of trouble that he completely missed the expression on Calder's face, though he did notice that Calder's aim was becoming increasingly erratic and vehement with every attempt to stake the vampire. Angel barked out corrections, but Calder didn't seem to hear.

"Calder!" Angel finally shouted. "Focus! Don't let him-"

"Hold him!" Calder interrupted. His eyes caught Angel's, commanding him rather than asking.

"What?"

But Calder wheeled around and marched across the grass toward William. Angel grabbed the vampire mid-lunge, staring at Calder incredulously. A few seconds later, the female vampire turned to dust and Calder returned, William following bewildered behind.

"Prove you're no different from them," Calder pointed at the snarling, yellow-eyed monster struggling against Angel's grasp.

A brief silence fell.

"What?" Angel's voice was low.

"Prove to us," Calder repeated, crossing his arms, "that you're no different from the vampires we came to kill tonight."

"Cal," William started, confused by Calder's strange behavior, "we already know he's different."

Calder turned his head back toward William, making it clear from his stance that the words were still also directed at Angel, and said, "He says he's different. But he can't possibly be as different as he claims. He's not. I know. I saw it… I saw something…" Calder turned back to face Angel. "What if I never found that book, Angel? What if we never found out that you were a vampire? It wouldn't be much different. You would have changed the stories some, hidden the blood in the fridge. But that's it. We've never seen you drink that blood. We've never seen your vampire face. We've never seen what happens when you touch a cross or walk through a beam of sunlight. Until that night with Zeus, I'd never even heard you growl. You've told us you're a vampire these past five years, but that's the only evidence we have to go on." He paused to take a breath.

"Maybe that was okay for kids, but we're not kids now. I won't accept what you tell me anymore just because you said so. We're old enough to fight with you, and we're old enough to be in your world. So we're old enough to know who you really are. It's time for you to stop hiding."

Angel stared at Calder more in shock than anything else. So this was it, then. Calder was finally piecing together everything that had happened since the night Angel had helped him. And this was his conclusion. Angel glanced at William, who stepped forward next to Calder.

"I agree with Calder," William said quietly.

Angel looked back at Calder. "I've been waiting for you to figure out what I am to you. Are you still afraid of me?" Calder gave a half-shrug, then a slight nod. Angel turned to William. "Are

you?"

"No."

"You should be. Calder's right. I'm not much different from other vampires. In fact, there's only one thing that separates us: a soul. If it's ever taken away, you'll have to kill me, just like this one here; like every other one you'll ever come across. No different." Angel paused for the briefest second.

"Alright, Calder, you win. No more hiding." Angel glanced down at the vampire he was holding and let his vampire visage appear. Looking back up at the boys, he said, "Look at us and remember this: it's just the soul." And suddenly, with a deep, startling growl, Angel ripped the head off the vampire's shoulders and flung it away over the graves, where it dissolved into dust before hitting the ground. Angel strode toward the boys, his eyes still yellow and his teeth still sharp. He stopped directly in front of them. Their hearts thudded fearfully, but they did not back away.

"I'm not going to put myself on display for you. I'm not going to cut myself to show you how fast I heal. We're not going to go home and talk about my evil vampire days over tea and blood. I'm not going to hold a cross to show you how it burns my skin. But I'm not going to be careful anymore, either. Things will change, but not as much as you think. There's just one condition to this: if anything about me bothers you, tell me. Deal?"

Calder nodded. "Deal." He reached out and shook Angel's hand.

"Deal," William repeated, and did the same.

"Good," Angel said. He reverted back to his human face. "Now. William, you seem a little off-balance when you're dodging and it slows you down when you want to come back on the offensive. And Calder, if you keep planting your foot that way when you kick, you'll eventually twist your ankle."

"Okay," Calder said, "let's fix it, then."

Angel heard a vampiric snarl somewhere far behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he could make out a movement a little more than 100 meters away. "We're in luck," he said. "You two up for another one?"

Calder bent to pick up his stake from the ground while William pulled his out of his pocket, nodding in affirmation.

"Oh yeah," Calder agreed.

"Let's do it, then." Angel turned on his heel, flanked by William and Calder, and together they strode toward the vampire through the darkness.


	13. Epilogue

_Roughly 3 years later_

The spring air was warm that night: a pleasant contrast to the unseasonably cool weather they had been having. The streets were slightly more crowded than usual on Headford Road, as many people were too restless to be indoors. The night was still young: couples strolled hand-in-hand into their favorite cafes, families with young children began to meander home after an ice cream outing, and groups of window shoppers stopped here and there to look at displays.

The next street over was quieter, which was the street William and Calder had decided to take: partially because it was easier to track vampires, and partially so Calder could recount uninterrupted his latest adventure with his new game, _The Seventh Moon_.

Not a block away from the distracted teenagers in a dark, narrow ally, a young woman stood in shock, eyeing the three hungry vampires who were advancing on her. Her dark, wavy, shoulder-length hair whipped around her face as she surveyed her grim situation, her hazel eyes wide with apprehension.

"Oh, _crap_!"


End file.
